Storm Bay Command Day- 7 - Young Endeavour Voyage

5/2/2017

(written 0318 7/2/2017)

Watches Kept:

• 0300-0400 Anchor watch

• Rest up
• Hand-over to youth crew (start 24h of youth command)
• Retrieve command day instructions from Isle of Dead
• Photo of everyone aloft
• Chalk mural
• woken up for tacks at 2100 and 2300

I decided waking up via swing into the Tasmanian sea was actually not the bet so I resisting urging to jump in.  

Up the mast an icy wind buffets us, chilling us, youth prepared for milder conditions.  It was a sign of what was to come.  As streaks of white foam painted lines across the increasing bay swell we held on for dear life.   Entering Storm Bay once more we reached rocky seas again.  

That was fine but on waking up for the first tack we found the rain was all too ready to soak our gear and at times the ship seemed like to throw us.  The frigid winds sapped my enthusiasm for the adventure although being responsible for calling the jib was a highlight.  Even with my breaking sleepy voice I directed the crew to heave it in against violent 30 kt winds with shouts of "2, 6, Heave!"

The Girls in Brisbane

Some shorter and longer anecdotes from our trip to Brisbane:

 Sunday.  No appetite but navigating Brissy seems Sinch.  Warm day, bed and book- just perfect :)

Monday.  Lounging in deck chairs surrounded by that humid spring heat watching the rainbow playground clamber over the soft fall.  Fake beach a solid mirage amidst the city.  Skyline BRISBANE Skyline.  Yummy all day breakfast omelette 7.50.  Thongs digging into my feet.  :D ^.^ :P

Tuesday.  Getting lost in the car. Griffith uni.  City cat 33 degrees, 3 hours, putting me to sleep.  Appetite :) kebab $4 at West End

Wednesday.  The queen street mall and we're hummingbird shopping. Our eyes flit from store to store and we walking but never stopping.  Aromas of at least seven kingdoms in a marvelous food market- a bubbling yummy concoction that's too hot to touch.  

South bank is just as lesuirely as always; like a cool breath upon a harried soul.  Even though my feet feel like over grilled fish we meander through QAG(the art gallery) until my eyes are permanently wide and my elbow are getting cold from the air conditioning.  At night we experience some night life on boundary street at the beach burrito.  Warm air and frozen margaritas, that's the life.

Thursday.

Busy streets, to a gigantum Moreton Bay, whipped green toilet water rising beach less towards us in the most disturbing fashion.  A cute water park; slides and mushrooms. 

Hell in circles past Roma Street and all I wanted to do was get out and take a picture of the spectacular blue storm clouds behind the sky scrapers and cathedrals.  Unnatural as though it was trying to pass for a cloudless sky to those city dwellers so focused on their work.  And still it was dark as though you could fall through it into some new dimension.  Stuck yet as the rain begins on the right side of the river traffic jams hard, all the cogs locked into stasis.  An object slams my window and turning I watch splinters of white dart away.  The size of my fist shattering a second time on the black road.  White ice.  A rageful motorist launching their fury off the bridge above at me.  Or not I find mere minutes later.

Smashing onto my side of the car is everything mother nature can throw.  Fist sized balls of ice sound like viking hammers.  Thrashing trees and twigs thwack the windscreen.  Rain sloshes and splashes on every side. Stuck still.  Red brake lights sneer at me through a wall of Grey and we might as well be stuck in a cyclone.  A tiny tin car, fragile glass windows just being hammered by divine fury.  Please don't break.  Please don't break.  Please.  Its not like I can hear anything over the storm.  Can't go forwards, can't go backwards, no way to go around.  My sister almost two in the backseat awoke in terror.  I masked my panic and helplessness with those reassuring adult smiles that lie and lie and lie.  There was nothing more to do.

Like countless others even as the storm eased we were blown off course, battered driftwood far from home.  You're always told: "Don't drive through floodwaters" but we had nowhere else to go.  In my mind I replayed images of dirty rvers in the road just like that one about those cars that rose u predictably.  A branch like that once carried on the flood or one larger, dangerous half a tree swept down to pummel the exhausted refugees.  Finally, tsunami, flood or cyclone I used to watch cars picked up like toy boats sickenly turning upon their side, or drowned under in waters to unknowable to fear.    The fuel light again shone.  My eyes were skewered when I glanced right, the shattered shards of the plastic window guard crushed beneath its onslaught.

Perhaps chaos could describe what we saw through the dropping rain.  The trees had to have been  savaged to provide such a litter along the streets.   A tin shed and a corrigated patio- one slumped exhausted on the path and the second a twisted traffic stop.  But over the panic that fluttered every heart - why what had occured- a steely layer of boredom grew at the unmoved tail lights before me.  Stuck somewhere new but stuck fast, not even the rain left to convince you that peak hour requires patience.

Is there anything that can make you feel better after such an experience?  Strangely the devastation around us.  We pass into a new street and there a typical two storey hotel faces mournfully south.  The top floor windows smashed right in.  One two three four five six.  Busted blank holes.  And its not the only one. We pick them here there and everywhere, glass joining the leaves upon the street.

To the north the clouds are angelic.  The fluff and catch the last of the sun, rimming a perfect blue.  A tease.  Then south that steel grey sheeted the sky still in warning.  Go home it screamed while you can.

Then.  Blackout across eighty two thousand homes.  The city still burns over the river, painting the night sky red.  Top side of the street well light, packed with hungry people with no way to cook for themselves. And then like a slammed door across the bustling footpath the lights stop.   Supreme darkness has taken the lower end.   There you just glimpse the writhing of bodies.  In the dark they move the same as us.  But it is inky there and so we turn back.  These traffic lights are on, shiny green.  Yah, go!

Rainy Volleyball

Beach Volleyball   

So you'd be thinking of a sunny summer day, skies painted bright. Perhaps you'd even picture bikinis in every rainbow colour against the sand. Well you can forget about bikinis first of all because this is CHS(Country High Schools) beach volleyball. In our case we had collared (what?) singlets with vertical stripes of gold(yellow), white and green(bottle).

Waking before 5 thirty in the morning, when any respectful teen should be asleep, we headed north for Byron Bay. After a dramatic thunderstorm stomped through yesterday there were still drizzles and clouds hanging about during our three hour drive. The ranting within the car kept me faintly amused.

Of course entering Byron its pouring, though all the tiny shops still looked cheerful and closed. At first optimism serves the four of us from Orara and we all huddle under umbrellas and picnic shelters. Maybe its on, maybe its off, maybe we'll go and play indoor. We're not real happy either way.

Our teacher comes to tell us the day is going ahead, "You're on."

So of course one of my team mates replies, "And you're off." in exasperation. It truly is appalling weather for sunny beach volleyball.

Running out onto the beach in bare feet, singlets and shorts we shivered. The wind gusted off the sea, brutal and laced with icy drops. The sea melded with the sky at the horizon, bleak and unwelcoming. We immediately ran back up to the park to shelter under the trees. Eventually I gave up hiding from the very sky and started hitting the balls around. I thought, that's it weather- I don't even care.

Then they called it off, we were heading to Evan's Head to play indoors. Wait that is anyone who actually had to travel; Alstonville and Ballina (with the shortest drives), decided to just head home. Well kitted out for BEACH volleyball, Emma and Ruby, needed some shoes so we cruised around Byron looking for some. In woolies we find out that (of course) people from Byron Bay don't wear shoes so we head for the next closest- Ballina.  

By the time we got to the indoor courts (12 o'clock) it was as sunny as the sunshine sugar logo. We played two and a half muck around games against Wauchope then Evans Head and then the Wauchope junior boys. Ruby and I got in a few awesome blocks against the boys who looked sheepish whenever we won a point. All of us exploded into uncontrollable laughter for half a set and twice I got lucky, chucking my arms in the air at impossible shots and won the point. Crazy Fun.

Leaving at 2 I called the trip not an entire bust but what I would like to know is this: Out of the entire North Coast Region (about Wauchope to Queensland) why was this tournament held at Byron Bay? Almost the northern-most point. It meant that Wauchope had to travel six hours in a bus for a rain drenched fail. I know its lucky that we live in the middle of the region, but out in the regional areas why make students and teachers travel even more ridiculous distances than they already have to?

More opportunities, less travel.