Chapter 1

The Threat of Redemption

Was it you or I who stumbled first? It does not matter. The one of us who finds the strength to get up first, must help the other .  Vera Nazarian, The Perpetual Calendar of Inspiration

September 28

The promise of relief had been swelling and hovering for more than a week, and now an early morning Darwin September light glittered red streaks across a black sky folding the smell of hope into every bud of distant water.

A wall of rain clawing its way from the distant Arafura Sea toward the city paints the green waters grey and nimbus shadows tower over the ocean surface.

Two are men waiting, rolling gently, patient on the humid stillness of a moored boat.

The jade-coloured sarong of Kopu-Nui Hokitika rises and falls as his huge body softly sings.

At the other end of the padded wooden bench an athletic younger man listens. “What does that one mean Punga?” he asks.

Kopu pauses and rests his guitar across his chest

“battle ahead – before a war there must be consultation – before a storm” then he laughs and says “means many things –words really saying that the gods are thoughtless in their fierceness and their intent –an ending will rip through shadows with spears of rain and painful air to breathe– but who can know what really is ahead and what are the sacrifices for freedom. It is an old song from way back”

The younger man shrugs and looks upward, his trained eye following the grain of the Douglas Fir mast. “I don’t always know what the hell you are talking about”

Kopu laughs loudly and freely and follows the young carpenter’s gaze up the polished tree trunk to the rigging high up the mast. There is no breeze to rattle the metal cleats, and yet the entire sky is full of cloud and full of angry morning darkness from the distant Northern horizon of the Arafura Sea.  Here in Darwin City and South over the treetop rainforests and red soil jungles the animals wait for their moment. Inside the stillness their world is clattering tumult deep inside itself, deep inside the monstrous heaving blanket.

Both men look out to sea as the tropical sky rips out thunder on thunder, spilling waves of lighting downward through the heat into the water below as it strides toward them.

Kopu continues “just got to get hold of the feeling” he looks back at the other man “it's also about a journey in a boat you know - like that without knowing where to, but it is old times you know…. two great kings and the people must decide who to follow in their journey – an old story”

He pauses then strumming again he talks and sings in small snatches of words amongst the chords

 “we all follow in the

pathways of the water…

great knowledge of the ancient ones…

hara mai te akaaka nui

hara mai te akaaka roa

hara mai te akaaka matua

hara mai te akaaka na

Io matua taketake te waiora…

and great heart strengthen your arms and axes

and your love of your ancestors makes your enemy weak…

and cuts apart the water for the land…” he sings on quietly as though half asleep.

The two men are on the deck of a large wooden sailing vessel, watching through the haze of breathless humidity, knowing at last it is coming.

A crackling exhaust pierces the cicada wallpaper and both men stir. The crackle eases to idling gasps and rumbles as the machine comes to rest on the concrete apron of the wharf.

The sound of footsteps and then the square bearded face of Toby Armstrong appears.

The men on the boat look toward him. Kopu puts the guitar aside and gathers his sarong around him as he rolls onto one elbow and nods. The effort of moving makes the tattoos twitch over his massive neck and shoulders like a flag rippling its pattern over the shell of a giant turtle.

The other man on deck, Mick Tasakrios flicks his long knotty Rasta hair, and throws his legs over the wooden edge behind him and tumbles up onto the deck in a roll. He sits up grinning and half waves, then casually brushes a fly from his knee.

Toby puts a foot onto the edge of the vessel “The famous navigator and the famous carpenter then” he says.

Silence.

Then he produces a rolled newspaper from his vest and holds it above his head. “Well, it’s just another croc story boys” and he hurls the paper in a high arc. It lands at Mick’s feet. Mick carefully removes the rubber band which he puts in his pocket. He unrolls the newspaper and reads, then flashes the front page to Kopu with its photo and trumpeting headline 'CROC STORY A CROCK'. Then he crosses his legs and spreads the paper and reads out loud "September 28 The amazing story of a savage crocodile attack along the North Arnhem Coastline played out in Darwin court this week when..."

Thud! Toby throws a package onto the deck from one hand and it lands inches from Mick's knee. Mick stops reading and looks up. Toby's face looks suspended, hesitating as it always does, if there is something to say but too many ways of saying, “Package for skip” he announces at last “from person or persons unknown… interesting” and his intense face informs Mick that he does not want to hear any more of the newspaper article. 

Mick looks back down and reads on in silence. 

Toby reaches inside his vest again and pulls out a thick parcel. Thud! The parcel is thrown onto the deck from the other hand and lands next to Kopu. “Provisions from treasury for the next chapter…. You can open that one”

Then Toby leaps aboard the vessel which rocks slightly to accommodate him. He stands legs together like a tree which has grown out of the deck. His legs are as brown as gnarled wood and the oil-stained shorts seem to sit like an afterthought at his thick waist.

Stained ragged shorts then a hairy belly-gap, and then a big loose leather vest out of which grow thick arms in an awkward clutter of too many torn muscles. He stands for a long pause looking at both of the men. “just another croc story” he repeats.

“Just another crock of shit if you ask me” says Mick still reading.

Toby gestures to the newspaper “she sold us out, sold the skip out”

Kopu laughs out loud “she sold us out” he repeats laughing again with his peculiar high pitched almost hysterical laugh for such a big man “she sold us out – oh love where is thy sting”

Mick looks up “isn’t that death – death where is thy sting?”

“Exactly exactly that” Kopu says and laughs and shakes his head as if nobody really will understand anything about love or death. “End of story, and beginning of story” he says.

Toby waits for a break in the rise and fall of the cicada shrieking to speak again “You blokes going to get a wet arse for sure – you staying on?”

Kopu and Mick both nod - They look toward the approaching storm.

“Got to keep her alive” states Kopu. Toby nods.

“Skip wants you at Buffalo Creek 0530” says Toby “she’s all fuelled and gassed and there’s spare fuel for the reach next to the chiller”

Kopu and Mick nod again “thank you the famous mechanic” says Mick, and Toby scowls at him, not enjoying his own little joke being sent back at him.

“Any news of the apprentice boy” asks Kopu

Toby looks up and down the length of the boat, running his eye over the winches and the trimmings “Sent him his first set of spanners” he replies at last.

“Mum will be pleased” says Kopu. Then there is a long pause as the three men turn toward the thunder.  “Where to?”

“Skip didn’t say – anywhere I guess – there’s more you know – court was bad enough but that’s nothing compared to what else - I told him  ‘piss off skip - to Zanzibar for a couple of years or go fishing off Lebanon coast or something’ – I told him to get the hell out – maybe he will listen to me for once”

“What do you mean there’s more – more than this crap?” said Mick shaking the newspaper in the air.

Toby seemed to stop his inner emotional motor as he often did at a time of great crisis, and his face became like stone. He stood there looking from Kopu to Mick and back again. “I’m not coming boys” he paused and took a deep breath and the stone cheeks seemed to relax a little and life flowed back into him as his thoughts crystallised “business to run – you know – kids to run – skip will tell you all about it” that was all he would say, though it was a lot coming from Toby. “love to know what’s in that parcel” He turned abruptly and leapt off the vessel back onto the walkway. The vessel rocked more violently this time. “Good luck boys – how’s Mary?”

“She’s fine, safe back with mum in Omokoroa” said Kopu and with a wave to Toby he rolls his body onto the deck mattress and looks away.

Toby stands on the walkway, seemingly smaller than he had looked on the deck. “love to grandpa” he says to Mick as he turns to walk away “worst of it should blow over by morning.... you can motor all the way if you want – tell that old Greek he owes me” and his voice begins to trail away “about time he took her back to Mykonos...”  then he is gone with the click of the walkway gate, and a few minutes later the bike revs fiercely and swirls away.

And so the two men hold onto their promises as they listen. They are thrown together in their waiting, each filled with thought and memory and untangling the lies and truth of their wretched predicament, each in their own private sweaty breathing. They listen as the angry exhaust fades and rises and fades again into the distance and are enveloped once again by the silence of heavy tropical air, a silence accompanied by cicadas so constant and loud they are impossible to hear. Underneath their noise, and through the relentless thunder, the men can feel the nervous melody of thick lapping water whispering the answer, offering up to the carved arc of the wooden hull the knowledge of what happened at Yalingimbi inlet.

The whistle of a kettle rises innocent in the face of the nearing ocean stormfall.

Kopu rises from the deck and carefully picks up the package and the parcel. He tosses the parcel in the air and catches it. He throws it to Mick who holds it to his ear and shakes it as if to hear a rattle. “no change” he quips.

They both laugh, Kopu laughing his open free laugh of worldly irony, and Mick more nervous and questioning.

Mick tosses the parcel back to Kopu who then edges past him and eases his giant body down into the companionway, and like a great black shark squeezing into a small cave, takes the package and the parcel below.

Kopu reappears with two mugs of hot tea and the men sip on their drinks both deep in thought.

Kopu taps his fingernail against the metal rim of his cup “we have the key” he says in his deep sing- song voice “now let’s see if it fits the lock” and again he laughs out loud, laughing into the face of outrageous fortune and daring what is to come, to come. As always Mick eases his thoughts into the strength and comfort of the big man’s well of determination, and laughs too, more quietly, finding strength there to allow destiny to chart the outcome of what they now have to do.

The red air fades into the morning blues and greys around the two men who are etched like sacrificial soldiers in the pale tropical light of the marina. The sun lifts itself off the horizon to be swallowed by the day, and all that remain of the crew of the Saint Augustine, those unwilling survivors and witnesses, are imprisoned and uneasy above the creatures of the water beneath them.

Shortly they will go below and batten down in preparation for tomorrow morning’s rendezvous.

Off The Grid

Chapter 2

To The Lighthouse

One line placed on the canvas committed her to innumerable risks, to frequent and irrevocable decisions. All that in idea seemed simple became in practice immediately complex; as the waves shape themselves symmetrically from the cliff top, but to the swimmer among them are divided by steep gulfs, and foaming crests. Still the risk must be run; the mark made. – Virginia Woolfe

August 19

The Saint Augustine is a silhouette between the jaws of an inlet as night creeps toward her. The huge shape of the vessel fills a splash of distant ocean beyond the narrow channel.  Her Larch planks moan quietly at anchor in the inlet under the last colours of a setting late August sun. In front of her a dense fringe of mangroves seem to close up and draw nearer around her as their branches and leaves disappear from green into reddish blue, and gradually dissolve into a darkening wall of black shadow shapes.

On deck, sitting on the edge of the deck, a figure pulls an arm free from a makeshift sling and rubs the shape of an injured shoulder, then, with deep rubbing, feels satisfaction in the density and definition of toned sinews and muscle.

The evening is growing and a half moon, tracked close by Venus, gashes a celestial image into the face of  the sky creating a silent pathway for the carpet of milky way lights emerging behind.  Hints of redness are still spilled across the warm horizon, but the only meaning for this nervous person is sufficient light to make out the lighthouse shed. “two hundred metres – not too far  - swim it in fifteen or twenty -no problem no problem mother – do the necessary – do the necessary”.

Only the tin roof of the lighthouse gleams out against the wall of mangroves. The inlet has now become a black cave.

The figure climbs down the rope ladder which hangs over the planks of the swollen hull. Dangling a foot into the water it is pleasantly warm and soft. “not too deep” and then startles as a bird cries wheeling overhead.

Pausing, remembering a dream from last night where flocks of petrels, thousands of petrels which being hatched but were out of control, attacked swarming all over, but fluffy and warm but choking. “did I die” the casual thought is murmured. Hard to remember although the feeling of the warm feathers around the skin is mirrored by the skin of the water

The figure slides into the darkening water and beneath the surface it is cool against the legs.

The moonlight is beginning to make the tin shed of the lighthouse glow white – the tall bamboo poles of the shack are in darkness and hard to make out, but the roof is shining clear like a beacon and the water is a pulsing silver sheet.

“be with me god and keep me safe” out loud, floating beside the comforting power of the wooden boat edge, and the child inside prays again and again. Pushing away and beginning to stroke the body through the clear stillness, pushing through the warm surface and the gentle coolness of the water.

The shape of the boat has now receded behind, and the black box shape of the wooden shack looms ahead. Tiring a little, feeling the ache growing in the sore shoulder. The tide is mild but it is coming in and helping, rubbing the shoulder while floating, rubbing gently.

Then a gentle bump against the left calf. The urge to shout leaps into a silent throat, a freeze rushing through veins rushing it to the heart. The moon watches passively as the shout of surprise is a silent alarm.

Taking a deep breath the figure now floats unmoving on the surface of the inlet water, like a log, feeling the soft swaying of the incoming tide beneath. Now edging closer to the mangroves in stillness and suspension. The reality of the bump against the leg fades into disbelief but then the reality of it cannot be denied. A look across to the glowing roof of the shed then back to the empty safety of the boat. The big hulk of floating black wood seems closer. “do the necessary god – look after me – look out for me” quietly, and then propelling onward toward the shack. Not splashing or breaking the water, only gently breast-stroking.

Bang! This time the bump is harder. The victim tries to swim hard but now going side-ways and only one leg will work. Suddenly dragged beneath the water there is struggling and kicks with a free leg. The leg kicks against something huge – some monster – more kicks and twists with urgency and desperate anger.  Then the figure bobs to the surface like a bloody cork.

The surface of the water is calm, lit softly as the moonlight picks out the detailed patterns of the tide like thousands of intricate scales moving and breathing in a glittering gown.

Now swimming furiously and splashing arms wildly but one leg is not working. The shack is looking closer, nearer “please god let me...” Bang! hit again at the hip this time, and beating wildly silently screaming above the water and under again against the great jaws that have closed. Punching punches, punches, punching wildly at the huge head, searching for eyes to strike. Then released again to see the moon, but the sound of bone cracking is like a horrible signal of approaching doom. “Not me not me not yet god please” and a thrashing hand at last closes on the rung of the ladder of the shack and the figure begins to drag itself upward.

Then struck again and slipping under the water, only the silence of the inlet is restored, broken by occasional swirling as the great beast rises to shake and roll its prey.

Off The Grid Chapter 3

Setting the Nets

watching life
return to me
in my net
more than i have given - George Hoerner

June 16

Matthew John Cabot, skipper and co-owner of the Saint Augustine, runs his finger around the rim of his mug of black coffee. His finger, like his whole body, is tall and thick set. His frame easily fills the sailing club chair which is nestled deep into the grass under the coconut palms which line the foreshore. He is seated at a table which has been dragged from the dining area onto the grass.

His eyes wander across to the other side of the table to contemplate the old man’s hands in front of him. He notices that one wrist is decorated with two gold bracelets and a fine gold watch. “The old man still has style” he thinks.

The arms of Theo Tasarakis lift and wave the watch to emphasise every word “ So that pure diet without killing is what I have decided to do and three weeks now – all I am eating is fruit and nuts, no meat, nothing that has been killed, only fruits and nuts, and look at me what do you think? “

Matthew seems slightly amused “You have always been a scrawny bird Theo - I’ll look at you in six weeks when we get back if I have to – what about coffee, and cheese”

“nothing is killed for them” says Theo feigning offence “only what is offered by god my friend – when do you go?”

“June 18, we go after lunch” Matthew mutters without looking up. He picks up a pen and is checking back through lists and notes.

“two days – ok – customers here yet?” asks Theo. Matthew does not answer. “ I only get certified organic anyhow so none of those pesticide things see – you know no pesticides that are killing all the bees – only what is offered by god for taking” and Theo’s arms fall back onto the table and he looks intently at Matthew “you could make that way for the clients you know –special feature – dietary feature - charge lots – you know my friend go for the top of the market you know”

“no change unless we need it” Matthew says still flicking back and forth in his notes “don’t rock the boat”.

Theo looks down and lifts his hands from the table and folds his arms. He searches around the crowded tables in front of the sailing club, with the sea-breeze fluttering his shaggy grey eyebrows. He squints against the morning sun which reflects bright off the thick lawn. He sees the figure of his grandson climbing out of a taxi and making his way towards them through the buzzing throng. Mick is tall and walks easily within his skin, dodging through a crowd of children and leaping up the podium stairs with rasta curls flying. On the way he stops at the bar for drinks, and then at a cooking stall and orders some food.

Theo says loudly as if addressing a number of people at surrounding tables “Six weeks then my friend, six weeks in that Indian tub of yours – I told you to buy that one made on Samos – they are the best builders – they have the history my friend – why would you buy a boat from Indians when you have the greatest culture of building boats right there on Samos my friend? When you have a Samos boat you fear no evil. You know....” then he looks around. Matthew looks up and follows his gaze and catches sight of Mick at the stall. “you mark my words....” then he drops his voice and leans forward “so how is your little project then?” and before Matthew can answer “and Mick don’t know nothing?..”

“No” says Matthew, looking into Theo’s ancient wrinkled face. Then he notices the long hairs on the old man’s shoulders and how they are grey and stick out around the neck of the singlet and he feels the sense of gentleness which Theo always seems to carry even when he is cranky about something “no, not Mick - I have built the last set of co-efficients and we are running all the stuff through again - through them now. Still probably a month off getting anything worthwhile – we have to keep changing the damn encryption chapter to stay ahead”

“Well I don’t know nothing about it either caviari – just in case someone asks” says Theo and Matthew looks up deep into the old man’s eyes. “and if they track you?” Theo grins and his eyes spark slightly then he looks away.

Matthew returns to his notes and mutters without looking up “then I am dead meat old man”

Mick arrives at the table. He sits and drops a newspaper onto the table in front of Matthew. “Hey dads, hey Matthew” he says “Seen it skipper? So big it can’t even dock here” he pushes the newspaper image of a vessel across the white table. “beautiful cutter though”

“hey dad you sound like a Skippy” says Theo frowning and waving an arm “where is that girl? Drug addict she is” he directs his words to Matthew who is reading the newspaper article “he won’t get into that I tell you – you start taking drugs Μιχαήλ and you know what I will do – eh - 
I cut your hands off – then what use is the best carpenter without hands I ask you”  

“she is a comedian Pappou – her own woman – she is working for goodness sake – I never would try and tell her what to do” Mick responds as he starts to eat his souvlaki  “anyhow it isn’t fair to sit in judgement on her like that – she is good hearted”

“good hearted enough to spend all your money too” and he turns to Matthew again “good hearted but a prisoner of addiction she is – wasting her beautiful life”

“Pappou please“ Mike frowns. For Michael the journey into Australian culture has been fraught with compromises and hidden values. Now he sits between the continents; Matthew at his serious coded hand-delivered notes and his father more Greek than the Greece he left behind. In the silence to Matthew “so what do you think skip?”

Matthew holds his coffee steady and peers across the top of the white rim of the mug at the newspaper photograph “what’s she do?”

“20 knots” says Mike absently as he gestures for a coffee in sign language to the barista “90 meters, got two tenders with 90 horsepower twins”

“Shit” says Matthew as he looks across the crowd toward a group of people who are moving toward him laughing and talking. “the cavalry have a new horse for keeping the waters safe - not a problem for us – all in the game – though I will grant you Mick that is a serious pursuit vessel”

“an arresting tub” Mick responds

“no problem for us we are clean” Theo replies grinning “it is said a game is an artifice of the gods for providing the psychological experiences of conflict and danger while excluding their physical realizations – perhaps for us it is more than a game no?“ he looks intently at Matthew then softens “and for Plato is was all a game for the gods” and he looks upward and says “God is the natural and worthy object of our most serious and blessed endeavours, for man is made to be the plaything of God, and this, truly considered, is the best of him”

Matthew still watches the group of people. The giant body of Kopu turns his way and their eyes meet. Kopu bows ever so slightly and Matthew smiles back and hints at a nod of the head. Then he turns back to look at Mick again.

Mick continues “heavily armed vessel  skip and makes distance but can you believe it so big nowhere to park here in Darwin. Not a problem for us – they will be out on the edge looking for wooden scows and flying smack bags and dancing to the Indonesia Raya“

Matthew puts the empty cup on the table and looks around the market crowd as if checking for someone then back to Mick “ok how are we looking? Got everything?”

Matthew is recently turned sixty and his face is ringed by white hair and by whiskers which are not well trimmed, though they look as though they should be. His skin is tanned and weathered and his eyes are the reflected blue of clear salt water. He has the thoughtfulness and possession of a man who has survived too many errors and too much suffering to judge others, and the coffee mug seems to nestle against his hand as though seeking safety.

Mick pulls out a list with receipts and Matthew puts on his glasses again and begins to carefully check through the dockets. He takes a pen out and makes notes in his pad. Coffees for Mick and Theo arrive “Another one skip?” Mick asks and orders without waiting for an answer. “All finished, and scrubbed.  Shipshape skip – replaced those two rails across the beam as well”

Kopu comes up to the table with his wife Maria, and Mick gets two chairs for them. They sit without saying anything.

Maria takes a notebook from her bag. “All paid” she says, “four women, five men and one child -The child is with two of the women – got some behaviour issues on the spectrum you know autism spectrum they said – I looked it up – no real issue –one woman travelling alone” Maria pauses and looks to Matthew who has not looked up, still checking in his notebook. She looks to Kopu who smiles and nods. She continues “one man is travelling alone also”

“OK thanks”, says Matthew, “how old is the child?”

“He’s nine nearly ten” says Maria.

Kopu says softly  “Toby in?”

Matthew looks up at the sound of Kopu’s voice. He puts the pad and pen down and accepts a newly arrived coffee, and leans back in his chair. “OK that’s great Maria thank you and very well done. What are the specials?”

“Well” says Maria,  “solo woman is Dutch marine biologist wants turtles, trepang, and she says a range of molluscs – specialises in parasites it seems, two of the women are twitchers so Peron Islands might be a good go on home leg, and maybe while loading up around Inglis and Wessel Islands, and so...” Matthew waits... “and our solo man is American vacationer with interests in Indigenous Culture – tourist”

Matthew nods “OK good”

Then to Kopu Matthew nods and says “one last run for Tobes – can’t say no”

Maria looks at Kopu then continues “ok so ten weeks Darwin Milingimbi and Galiwinku, Kupang, Brakbanna and Badjela, and home - the two women with the boy – main cabin. Single woman cabin two, and the single man in with the crew. He needs laptop space, and I imagine so will Dutch woman though she has not specifically requested it. Two men in fore cabin etcetera” and she hands Michael a diagram which he glances at and passes to Matthew,

Matthew makes a couple more notes then puts his pen down and reaches across to touch Maria’s hand. He looks directly into her deep black eyes and she looks away sideways. “I am sure you have a more detailed itinerary outlined?”

She looks directly back into Matthew’s eyes for a moment then looks to Kopu and she nods. She looks back at Matthew’s hard blue eyes and says “Kupang nine to thirteen September”

Matthew leans back in his chair again and rolls a cigarette in silence. He has learned to trust Maria although Kopu spends his entire working life at sea. He glances at Kopu and wonders how this beautiful slender woman with her shock of long black hair and deep brown eyes and soft woman strength would bother to stay faithful to a huge seagoing rock like Kopu. But then Kopu is Kopu-Nui Hokitika known as Punga the shark, and in the line of warriors of the green gemstones and the water god Ikatere the merciful and the deadly.

Theo stretches and gets up from the table. He calls to a distant group of men, and then turns back to Matthew. He puts his hand onto Matthews ironed linen shirtsleeve then doas a little dance has he skips down the steps singing “the songs of my ancestors still ricochet through the wind - everyone is crying out for peace my friend, no one is crying out for justice” then he stops, turns and laughs “stay safe and look after my boy – iasu” and he turns and melts into the crowd on his short wealthy bow legs.

Matthew considers the brown eyes and the thick grey eyebrows of his patron and favourite philosopher as the old man disappears into the yacht club crowd. He watches Theo depart, then turns back to the table and says “Mick, this kid is yours – ok – yours - you look out for him every waking minute on board ok? I don’t want him going for a shit without you watching him – never let him out of your sight ok – you will be his best friend and nothing happens to him ok?”

Maria coughs and says “stern with a little boy – but not good if he gets washed away - anyhow all passports, visas, done permits done, and all paid up”.

“He doesn’t mean be tough on the kid, only means a safety line so the kid cannot fall off” said Mick “too many snappers out there in the water” and he grinned at his own joke.

Kopu laughed right out loud at the thought, frightening a waiter who had crept up with a cordless phone. “Call for Mr Cabot”

“Hang on Toby”, Matthew says into the phone, and he looks up at Kopu and Maria who have both stood from the table and he says “fifteenth 0600 embark 1300 – thank you Maria you are the only woman I ever could have married – let me know if he ever leaves home for good”

Maria smiles warmly and confidently, “he always sails for his own good” then she hesitates as Kopu gathers himself “and he comes home for my good” and they walk away together, greeting tables as they move toward the exit gate.

Then Matthew talks on the phone with Toby at length regarding supplies and re-supply points.

Mick gets up and waves cheerio while Matthew is still talking to Toby.

After Mick has gone Matthew finishes his plans with Toby and then leans back in his chair and casts his eyes over the armada of yachts moored in the huge shallow tropical harbour spread before the great sailing club, and where the Saint Augustine was once moored until Theo bought the marina berth.