A Yacht Called Erewhon Page 11

  Progress was sluggish, and I peered ahead into the dark water, watching for the logs that were racing along with the flow, hell-bent on destroying us as they swept past.

  I was surprised at how far up the river Looney had taken the barge, but when it appeared out of the murk it was obvious why. He’d tucked the vessel nicely into a back-eddy, out of the tide flow and under the lee of the surrounding cliffs.

  There was no sign of him as we tied up alongside and scrambled on board. Despite the howling wind, it was strangely quiet, and there was no response when I pounded on the cabin door. I tried again, and thought I heard some strange grunts. I pulled open the heavy steel door, and we both took a step back as a foul stench rushed out to meet us.

  ‘Jeez!’ exclaimed Matt. ‘Do you reckon he’s died?’

  I sucked in a large breath and stuck my head through the opening. My eyes struggling to adjust to the poor light, I made out two legs protruding from the bunk. I took another large gulp of air and dived down the companionway. My nostrils reeled and my stomach tried to reject my breakfast as I stumbled forwards. In the dim light, I found a torch and managed to light a gas lamp. I leaned over Looney and could see his chest rising and falling under the empty rum bottle he was still clutching. I decided he could wake up in his own time. Looking around the cabin, I found Matilda hanging upside down on her perch, fast asleep.

  By the time we returned to camp, the wind was gradually decreasing and the river had returned to its banks, leaving a trail of flotsam and jetsam scattered all over the campsite, which was now a moonscape of sticky river silt.

  Dad and Hepi were rolling up the awning sides as we arrived back, and when we told them about Looney’s state they decided they’d better go and look.

  Up-river, Dad and Hepi clambered aboard to find Matilda perched motionless on the cabin top. She attempted to squawk, but only managed, ‘Pieces of—’

  They could hear a low moaning as their eyes adjusted to the light. ‘Good sign!’ said Hepi as he stepped forward. ‘At least he’s still alive.’

  Looney was still prone on the bunk, but was making an attempt to sit up. He tried to speak, but the dried vomit around his mouth prevented anything more than a vague grunt.

  They got either side of him and sat him up. As they did so, Looney exhaled a lungful of stale cabin air combined with rum fumes. Without another word, they frog-marched him up the stairs and out on to the deck.

  Looney grimaced in the bright sunlight. Under protest, they dragged him to the bow-ramp, tied a rope around his waist and tossed him into the swirling, cool water. Looney kicked, splashed and regaled them with his finest vernacular as the water quickly washed away the smell and vomit. When he looked clean enough, Hepi hoisted him back on deck.

  Looney had by now regained full use of the power of speech and was letting Dad and Hepi know what he thought of them, their mothers and fathers, and anyone else he could lay his tongue to. Hepi disappeared into the cabin and returned a few minutes later with three steaming mugs of tea and a dry set of clothes. They all sat in the warm sun, leaning against the cabin and sipping their tea without saying anything.

  ‘Bit of a bender!’ said Hepi, finally breaking the silence.

  ‘Yeah, fuckin’ right. Never again!’

  ‘You say that every time, you dopey bastard!’

  ‘Glad to see the fuckin’ rain has stopped. How’s the wind on the outside?’

  ‘Dropping, but the sea is huge. You won’t get out of here before tomorrow,’ said Hepi.

  ‘While we’ve got a few minutes, how about loading that keel on here?’ Dad asked. ‘When you see the thing in the flesh it’s too big to load on the truck, and we’d probably be overweight anyway.’

  Looney, still hazy from the rum, pondered for a few minutes. ‘Ya reckon it’ll fit flat on the deck up by the bow?’ he asked.

  ‘Yeah!’ Hepi chimed in.

  ‘How fuckin’ big did you say that surf is?’

  ‘Huge!’

  ‘And you want me to take yer lump of scrap out through that, bow-down. Who do you think I am?’

  ‘Surf will drop in a couple of days, you whingeing bastard!’

  ‘Yeah, and in two days I have to be back in Auckland for me next fuckin’ load!’

  As Dad rose from the deck and walked the few paces to the wheelhouse door, Looney continued to grumble about landlubbers trying to drown him. He turned and looked at them. ‘Let’s go and have a fuckin’ look at it!’ he bellowed.

  We laid planks out as Hepi started Aggie, the theory being that the combination of Looney’s winch and a shove from Aggie would see the keel safely on board. Once the planks were in place, we greased them and, with a signal from Looney, Hepi applied the pressure. Looney’s winch screamed, Aggie billowed clouds of black smoke, and the huge weight began to inch forward. Even though the keel was ten tons lighter than the hull without wheels, it proved to be much more difficult to manoeuvre, but finally it slid on board. Hepi backed off, we slid the planks out of the way, and Looney raised the ramp.

  Mic, who’d been overseeing the proceedings from the safety of the riverbank, watched in silence. Dad wandered over and put his arm around her shoulder. ‘She’s on her way, girl,’ he whispered.

  ‘You will make her sail again, won’t you, Jim?’

  ‘Trust me, you and I will sail her sooner rather than later. I’m not here collecting firewood!’

  Mic smiled and kissed him on the cheek.

  Looney climbed onto the bow and jumped off onto the bank. ‘Let’s go and have a fuckin’ look at the river mouth,’ he announced, strutting off in the direction of the crashing ocean. The wind had dropped to zero, and an eerie calm had descended. We followed him along the now-dusty path.

  The swell was mountainous. We gazed at it without uttering a sound. The ocean was stained with brown silt for about a mile out to sea, which only made the situation look even more ominous.

  ‘Fuck!’ proclaimed Looney. ‘Might wait till dusk and see if it drops. We’re too bow-down to tackle that stuff!’

  Back at camp, there was that same strange calm. All we needed was the ocean to play its part and Erewhon would be on her way home.

  ‘If that fuckin’ surf dies down enough, we’ll take the old bitch out to sea tonight!’ Looney muttered. ‘I’m s’posed to be pickin’ up a load of fuckin’ cellphone towers and taking them out to Tiri in a couple of days, so I hope there’s no more hold-ups. Those Telecom jokers don’t like being fucked around! Once I’ve dropped them off, I can come back up here and pick up the rest of yer fuckin’ junk!’

  ‘Well, let’s hope the sea goes down quickly,’ said Dad. He returned to where we were all gathered and set the plan in motion. ‘Hepi, Jen and I will go with Erewhon. Ben, you and Matt will load what you can on the Nissan and the truck, and Looney can come back later and pick up the rest of the equipment. Do you think you’ll be able to make it back to town on your own?’

  We laughed.

  Mic was sitting in the background, and it took Dad a few moments to notice something was wrong. ‘What’s the matter, doll?’

  She looked up at him. ‘I have nowhere to live now you’re taking Erewhon.’

  Dad had assumed she was coming home with us, and it only took a few minutes for Mum to convince Mic that she was part of the family now and would be staying with us, of course, and once Erewhon was back in the water she could make her mind up where she wanted to stay.

  As the day continued, we took turns to wander down to the river mouth to check the ocean. Each time someone returned, it was with a glum face. Looney, unhappy with the reports, decided to have a look himself. He stood motionless, watching the rollers rushing into the river, and didn’t move for ages.

  Finally he turned. ‘She’s a fuckin’ twenty-seven/twenty-eight pattern. We can get out on fuckin’ high tide!’ he bellowed. I had to ask what a twenty-seven/twenty-eight was, as I knew nobody else had any idea what he was talking about.

  ‘The fuckin’ twenty-seven and t
wenty-eight is the spacin’ of two successive small waves in that fuckin’ mess out there, you dopey landlubbers! If you’re coming with me, you’d better get loaded. When I’m ready to go, I’ll leave whether you’re on board or not!’

  Looney had been warming the engines for about half an hour when his three passengers scrambled on board. Mum looked down at the river mouth, shaking her head. Dad put his arm around her shoulder. ‘Calm down, old girl,’ he said. ‘Once we’re through that surf-line, everything will be good as gold!’

  Mum looked at him and drew in a large breath. ‘Stuff Hepi!’ she said through clenched teeth.

  ‘I heard that!’ said a jovial voice from behind her. ‘Don’t worry, Miss Jen, the Looney One is the best!’

  Looney turned the bow towards the ocean and edged off down-river, halting just inside the breaker-line. He called to Hepi that he wanted him to count the sets, so Dad and he moved to the bow as it rose and fell to the rhythm of the sea. The surf was huge, and, with the barge noticeably trimmed bow-down, it was going to be touch and go.

  Mum remained beside the wheelhouse, clinging on as the bow rose again. Hepi and Dad could just see over the bow-ramp but didn’t know when to start counting.

  Looney, in the meantime, fought with the controls to keep the barge head to wind. Dad went back to the bridge to consult with Looney. ‘Reckon it’s still too big?’ he asked.

  Looney sucked through his teeth. ‘Let’s wait and have a look at twenty-fuckin’-seven and twenty-fuckin’-eight. I’ll let ya know when they come, and then ya can start counting!’ Looney was still fighting the controls, but never took his eye off the water. ‘If the next one is smaller, it’ll be twenty-fuckin’-seven!’ he yelled.

  As if on cue, the next roller was smaller and passed under the barge without too much trouble, and it was followed by another of similar size. ‘That’s fuckin’ twenty-eight!’ he bellowed. ‘Now watch out for the next fucker. It’ll be huge.’

  He was right again, as the barge lurched into the air. ‘Start fuckin’ counting!’ he bellowed. ‘That last one was number one!’

  As the rollers passed under the bow, Dad raised another finger. As twenty-five went by, he drew a breath and twenty-six broke just ahead of the bow, followed by the two smaller waves.

  ‘Count again!’ yelled Looney, and the pair started again. There was no place here for electronic calculators or fancy computers—this was basic arithmetic. Twenty-seven and twenty-eight passed by again, as Looney backed away from the surf-line. ‘I want you to tell me when twenty-fuckin’-five is approaching, cause that’s when we fuckin’ go for it. I want to hit twenty-six as it breaks, and we’ll shoot through on the following two flat ones!’

  Dad looked at Mum. She was rigid. ‘Do you reckon we’ll be all right?’ he called to Looney.

  ‘I wouldn’t be putting me fuckin’ barge on the line if I didn’t think we were going to come through this, ya dopey bastard. Now keep counting!’

  Twenty washed under the bow, followed quickly by twentyone and twenty-two. Looney slipped the gear levers into neutral and gunned the motors; he needed to know they were going to respond the moment he called on them. The revs died back, and he re-engaged the propellers.

  ‘Twenty-three, twenty-four,’ Dad and Hepi bellowed from the bow. At twenty-five, Looney threw the throttles wide open, and the barge lurched forward. Twenty-six loomed ahead.

  ‘Fuck!’ yelled Looney, ‘I’m too fuckin’ early. Break, you fucker, break!’ The barge steamed full-bore towards the wall of water. ‘Hang on!’ he bellowed, as the bow sluggishly started to rise. Forty tons of lead slowed the response, and the huge wave loomed above the top of the bow-ramp. ‘Hang on!’ Looney screamed again, as thousands of gallons of water cascaded over the bow and picked up Hepi and Dad, tossing them along the deck under Erewhon like a couple of rag dolls. Mum screamed as they crashed and bashed their way along the deck to end up at her feet. The wall of water rushed out through the scuppers as Looney, fighting to keep control, held the throttles wide open. He knew there was no turning back and that hesitation would spell disaster. The motors screamed as the wave passed under the stern, lifting the props clear of the ocean.

  As we watched from shore, we knew they were in trouble but were powerless to do anything. The stern dropped and the props bit. The barge surged forward with Looney wrestling for control. Twenty-seven and twenty-eight performed as expected, passing under the barge without any bother. Erewhon groaned as Looney turned the bow to run down the coast in the giant swell. The barge rose and fell to the ocean rhythm, and it was now time for him to take stock. A headcount revealed that everyone was still on board.

  Dad was leaning against the wheelhouse, holding his forearm in obvious pain. Mum was leaning over Hepi, who was lying motionless with a large gash to his forehead. While trying to stem the blood, she checked his other vital signs.

  Looney corrected the barge direction and set the autopilot, then stepped down from the wheelhouse. ‘What the fuck’s up here?’

  ‘Hepi’s in a bad way—he needs stitches,’ Mum said, as she whipped off her T-shirt and used it as a compress to try to stem the blood.

  ‘What about you?’ he said, looking at Dad.

  ‘I think it’s broken!’ he replied, nodding towards his arm.

  ‘Fuckin’ landlubbers!’ muttered Looney. ‘Just sit there. I’ll deal with him first!’

  Looney disappeared into his cabin, returning with blankets and a very impressive medical kit. ‘Ya don’t find too many fuckin’ doctors when yer twenty miles off the coast—ya have to take care of yerself! Now let’s have a gander at this fuckin’ mess!’ he said, peeling back the compress. ‘He’ll definitely need fuckin’ stitches in that!’ he announced as he inspected the wound. ‘I better whack them in while he’s still out to it. Saves on the local if we do it quick.’

  Mum looked doubtful, but Looney had no qualms.

  ‘Don’t worry, missus, Long John Clegg, me old boss, taught me all there is to know about fuckin’ doctoring. He’ll be as good as new in half an hour. While I’m getting set, ya better get him covered with one of those fuckin’ blankets, and yah fuckin’ old man too. We don’t need them goin’ into fuckin’ shock!’

  Mum did as she was instructed, while Looney delved around in his kit. He put on some sterile gloves and unpacked the needle and thread. He sterilised Hepi’s wound and, with the finesse of a surgeon, inserted six tiny stitches into Hepi’s forehead, neatly pulling the skin back together.

  Mum was intrigued. ‘They’re unusual stitches.’

  ‘Yeah, old Long John always reckoned doctors should learn their craft from sail-makers—they’d be neater at their job! Well, that’ll fuckin’ do,’ he continued, as he applied a clean dressing. ‘He’ll have a king-size headache, but apart from that he should be fine.’

  Mum checked Hepi’s vital signs and, as Looney had predicted, he appeared to be OK. Even though it was a warm evening, she tucked the blanket tight around him. Next they turned to Dad, who was still nursing his forearm. Looney took hold of it, and Dad grimaced in pain.

  ‘Don’t need a fuckin’ X-ray to know what’s going on here! We’d better splint the bastard!’ Looney disappeared below as Mum comforted her bedraggled husband. Looney returned with two strips of wood and set the arm, which had Dad reeling in pain. Looney disappeared into the cabin again, this time returning with half a bottle of rum. ‘Here, take a couple of swigs!’ he instructed his patient. ‘It might not kill the pain, but at least you won’t care.’

  The bandaging finished and Dad’s pain numbed by the rum, Looney fashioned a sling for him and then packed his kit up and returned to the wheelhouse to check on the barge’s progress. ‘Just make sure he doesn’t get fuckin’ cold,’ he instructed Mum as he checked the heading.

  Looney checked the autopilot as the barge rose and fell to the gentle rhythm of the ambling swell. Despite all that had happened in the past few hours, Mum sat back and relaxed as the engines beat out a slow rhythm and the mo
on climbed from the horizon.

  ‘We’ll be in sight of the fuckin’ city by dawn, missus,’ Looney reassured her, as she gazed up at the sky.

  9

  Come on, Bollocks, we’ve got a boat to unload!’ Mum and Dad stirred from their sleep to find Hepi leaning over them with two mugs of strong tea. Dad tried to move, but a night of sleeping in an upright position had all but frozen every bone in his body. Mum was also suffering from cramp, but slowly their blood started to circulate as the hot tea lubricated their joints.

  ‘Glad to see you on your feet again, Fatman,’ he said, slapping his old mate on his back. Dad stood up and looked over the rail, recognising the shoreline. Looney had guided the barge through the night and now stood off the shore of the lower reaches of Dad’s property. Trucks marked Yacht Haulage were waiting on the ramp.

  ‘I took the liberty of calling ahead for some help, Bollocks. I know it might punch a hole in your pride, but there’s bugger all you can do with that,’ Hepi said, pointing to his arm.

  ‘Thank you, Hepi. He isn’t going to lift a finger!’

  ‘Don’t fuss, woman!’ Dad snapped back.

  ‘I’m not fussing, but the moment this thing is on shore you’re going to the hospital.’

  ‘Yes, dear,’ Dad conceded.

  Looney nosed the barge into the ramp, and Stan and his sidekick, Samosi—better known as Gorilla, for obvious reasons—jumped on board.

  ‘Yacht Haulage’s A Team,’ Hepi chuckled, as they all shook hands.

  Stan acknowledged the compliment, but Gorilla stood silently in the background.

  ‘What the hell have you got here?’ Stan peered up at the giant upturned hull. ‘Where did you find her? She’s a beauty.’ His eyes darted around the barge as he summed up the job in hand. ‘Reckon we’ll winch her straight off here and up to the shed on those bogies, no sweat!’

  Looney was unclipping Erewhon when Matilda flew down and landed on his shoulder. ‘Come on, you jokers,’ he said. ‘Let’s stop the prattle and get this thing off me fuckin’ boat!’ Matilda joined in the chorus. ‘Off me fuckin’ boat! Off me fuckin’ boat!’ Looney admonished her in the usual fashion, so she flew up to the wheelhouse roof and carried on swearing as Gorilla laid out the winch cable.