Windforce: A Voyage into the Blue

By M.A Hill

WINDFORCE: a voyage into the blue. By M.A.Hill
Book two of The Travellers Trilogy

'You can't beat against the force of the wind forever - sometimes you must just run before the gale even though it may end in shipwreck.'

Storms of the Indian Ocean course up the coast of Western Australia in winter - saltwater sailor and Master Mariner Gretta Finneson is on a desperate solo voyage in Vagabond, a vintage racing yacht. She must complete the passage to save a dolphin and whale watch charter in the pristine wildlife sanctuary at Shark Bay from development and destruction by powerful Chance Syndicates. Time and the odds are against her.

The freedom of those who travel these trackless horizons of windswept oceans and the lonely outback is endangered, and it seems that failure is inevitable. Fellow Traveller, landscape artist Aidan Randell, cannot help her for he is tied to the fragile musician Zelina who is beset by floods and bushfires in her southern forest sanctuary.

Adventurer, poet, and artist M.A. Hill is a unique voice in Australian literature, and she tells a powerful story that mirrors the relentless battle for the survival of our world's wild places. As the plot unravels in this second novel of The Travellers Trilogy, the diverse characters populate a landscape that is at once original yet familiar.

The first novel, 'Trackless; a journey that follows no trails,' was praised as 'a compelling read' (Cockburn Gazette) 'a work of sheer literary genius' and 'one of the best books I've ever read.'

The final tale, 'Setback: a passage through the dark,' will be released soon.
If you read Tim Winton, you will enjoy the work of M.A.Hill. Her prose is lyrical, and her storytelling overlays many dimensions of reality.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris AU
• Release date: Mar 11, 2016
• ISBN: 9781514446386

Book preview

Copyright © 2016 by M.A. Hill.

Library of Congress Control Number:   2016903342

ISBN:      Hardcover   978-1-5144-4637-9

                Softcover     978-1-5144-4636-2

                eBook           978-1-5144-4638-6

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Author Photo by Permission of Neil Mulligan.

Illustrations by Annie Otness and cover image from a painting on silk 'Into the Storm".

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 03/09/2016

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CONTENTS

Chapter 1 High Seas Forecast

Chapter 2 Gale Warning

Chapter 3 Intensifying to Storm Force

Chapter 4 Clearing to Hazy

Chapter 5 Isolated Confluence

Chapter 6 Undergrowth Back-Burn

Chapter 7 Squalls Inshore

Chapter 8 Caution: Maintain Lookout

Chapter 9 Equilibrium Disturbance

Chapter 10 Course and Waypoint Set

Chapter 11 Atmospheric Anomaly

Chapter 12 Backscatter Occluded

Chapter 13 Unsecured Shorelines

Chapter 14 Diffluence

Chapter 15 Tide Set and Drift

Chapter 16 Brief Calm Periods

Chapter 17 Visibility Variable

Chapter 18 Strong Winds, Rough Seas

Chapter 19 Instability Deepening

Chapter 20 Retrogression, Possible Subsidence

Chapter 21 Localized Sublimation

Chapter 22 Fire Danger Alert

Chapter 23 Prevailing Headwinds

Chapter 24 Triple Point Gustfront

Chapter 25 Thunderstorms, Bushfire Risk

Chapter 26 Critical Incident: Pyrocumulus

Chapter 27 Oceanic Hazards

DEDICATION

T o all the wayfarers on the journey:

• Those whose paths I have crossed, those who have walked beside me, those who have turned back or taken a different road, and those who have travelled ahead.

• Those who have carried their own burdens and those who have shared them, those who have laid their burdens down and those who have taken them up.

• Those who harvest what has been sown---Tangaroa Blue, Sea Shepherd, the individuals and the groups who gather together to reap the grim residue that has been cast upon our oceans. We have sown the wind and must reap the whirlwind. The planet is in your hands, and life on earth depends on you.

THE TRAVELLERS TRILOGY

Book 1: Trackless: A Journey That Follows No Trails

Book 2: Windforce: A Voyage into the Blue

Book 3: Sweptback: A Passage through the Deep

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

T hank you, David Owens, Lynn Lord, and Jane Laws for your patience in reading and your positive input for this episode of the Travellers saga. And thanks to Ole, my skipper and partner in many voyages of discovery.

The author acknowledges the traditional custodians of the lands known as Australia and their elders past and present.

AUTHOR'S NOTE

T he selkie folk, or creatures of the sea, inhabit our collective psyche, and Gretta Valkyrie Finneson personifies the mermaid avatar. I too have sailed in her wake along the wild coasts and tranquil waters and have swum in the oceans of the world.

The solo sailing adventures described in this story are within the capabilities of an experienced sailor.

The Aboriginal references are used respectfully in a general sense and in this story are my own interpretations. The characters are fictions of imagination, some inspired by friends and people I know and have met, but there is no cultural or family relationship with any Indigenous person past or present.

STORM ON THE SOUND

There can be no safe harbour

When the seafarer sets sail

Into the unmerciful storm.

When wind and water meet

The force of air is greater

And so we go with the elements.

Let the light of the soul

Be your vigilant navigator

The fire of the skipper your heart

And the good body the crew that find a way into the storm

And hold course!

Only the brave heart in a strong vessel

Can love the energy of air and take joy.

Annie Otness

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CHAPTER 1

High Seas Forecast

CHAPTER1.jpg

A s night began to fall, it brought with it the fading of the light, an imminence of a wild night to come. The sky grew dark on the southern horizon, where a phalanx of great banks of dark cloud gathered, casting indigo shadows on the leaden sea. The pale fading sun was low on the sky, reflecting a flickering, foam-flecked pewter pathway out to the west, and the last rays were casting beams of light into the sky. Long grey streaks from the sunlit clouds showed that the rain was coming in from the sea, bringing before it a chill wind.

The shore was buffeted by the strengthening breeze. The soaring kite surfers of the late afternoon had given up and left the white sands to the gulls that had also taken refuge. With folded wings, they huddled on the sand, hunkered down for the night. At anchor, offshore container ships showed lights, and a sailing boat, its sails reduced to straining flags, hammered in from the sea towards the rock breakwall of the safe harbour.

In the slight shelter of the haven, a man stood on the end of the jetty. He was wearing a suit, and his blue tie fluttered on the white shirt. He stood square on the wind, looking out into the calm water of the marina, watching the slow approach of the tall mast with its shortened sails as it headed up into the wind, slowing, changing course to make the entrance.

Tobias Chance Bellamo wondered to himself what he was doing there, standing at the end of a jetty, the cold wind buffeting him and now blowing a mist of rain on to him that he chose to ignore. He was waiting for the sailing boat to arrive, but dark was falling, and he wanted to be home before dark. He had better things to do with his time. He looked at his watch, not yet six o'clock. The phone call from Doc, the senior partner, had only been an hour ago. To make it down to this deserted jetty in time, he had not had time to change from his well-cut grey suit. The jacket was designed for air-conditioned offices, plane flights, driving his car, or dining in a restaurant, so not only was he cold, but he felt ridiculous as well. His work normally did not involve him in anything like this. The challenge of his day was in the corporate field, and usually he chose his adventure time in better weather, with his light aircraft or four-wheel drive and freedom to go wherever he wished.

He had chosen to drive up the ocean road rather than the highway, and stopping in a high viewpoint, he had seen a sail heading down from the north. He checked it out with the binoculars he always kept in the glovebox of the BMW. He had assumed this was the boat he was to meet as it was the only yacht out sailing in the grey and windy weather. Not knowing much about sailboats, he had to watch its slow and laboured progress for nearly half an hour before he could calculate when it was likely to arrive at the berth in the big marina, down the coast a few kilometres. He had decided not to go for a coffee or to change into warmer clothes, so he was now waiting at the end of the jetty as the boat headed through the entrance, past the rocky heads that guarded the narrow passage into the sheltered waters.

The boat was moving more slowly now, and he guessed by the way it was sailing in that it might be a while before it berthed as it was heading off at an angle to where he waited on the T-head of the jetty. He cursed the driver. 'Start your damn motor!' he shouted ineffectually into the breeze, which blew his words away.

The only crewman visible was a figure at the stern of the boat, wearing some bright-red outfit, clutching the wheel, seeming to be frozen to it, as the yacht plodded in towards the jetty with only one sail up now, set hard against the stiff breeze. Abruptly the yacht changed direction, the sail flapped, the crewman finally taming it, and then it steered away out to the open harbour. Bellamo fumed. Playing around on a night like this, surely the crewman must see him waiting, he thought.

Then after a few minute, the yacht made another change of course and, this time, headed back in, right towards where he stood. It was definitely coming into the jetty this time, and Tobias watched as the crewman ran suddenly up the front with a coil of rope before returning to the wheel.

'Start your motor!' he yelled, certain that this time he would be heard. The crewman waved back but, other than holding a course that would make the yacht hit the jetty right where he stood, did nothing. Then, before he was really ready for it, just as the fine bow of the gracious old yacht would have crashed into the concrete at his feet, it turned suddenly into the wind, the sail flapping wildly. He leapt back, startled. A rope flew into his face, and he caught it instinctively. The figure on board pointed to a post on the jetty, and he managed to wrap the rope around it and secure the boat. The crewman was frantically busy, trying to drop the big sail that rattled and crashed in the breeze, the ropes that had controlled it now free and snapping and whipping. With power enough to break a man's arm or take his head off, he thought.

He wished he knew how to help but could only stand by until finally the work was done and the sail dropped in a bundle on the front deck. The figure in the red wet-weather suit passed him buffers to protect the boat, pointing to where to place them between the hull and the jetty so as to protect the fragile wooden hull from damage. There seemed to be something wrong; the crewman seemed weak and slow. 'I'll come aboard,' he offered and jumped lightly from the jetty to the deck. The crewman had gone to the back of the boat, so he followed down the steep stairs into the cabin of the yacht.

Stripping off the hooded jacket, the crewman turned towards him, and he found himself gazing astounded into a pair of light-blue eyes framed by a beautiful pale face surrounded by a mass of windblown silvery fair hair, fine as silk.

'You're a woman.'

'That's true.' Despite the state of utter weariness that devoured her, she smiled into his dark, angry face. 'And you're a man.' Beating in against the stiff, cold evening breeze, she had seen him with her keen eyesight, a dark figure on the jetty, and thanked Huey and all the fickle gods of the mariners that he was there.

The four days she had spent out on her own with the heavy, old, stubborn boat in bad weather had pushed her beyond her resources to a state where she was able to work purely on will and soul. The boat's autohelm, which would have steered her on a set course while she could rest, sleep, or eat, had failed early on the first day when she sailed with the light northerly breeze pushing the boat along southwards to Fremantle, so she had to hand steer the whole distance, alone.

*     *     *

There had been no real choice for Gretta Valkyrie Finneson but to undertake this solo voyage down the West Coast of the Great South Land in the winter, when the lows climbed out of the Southern Ocean and, meeting the warm flow of the Leeuwin current that originated in the tropical waters of Indonesia, took their slow two-knot drift all the way down this wild coast to dissipate finally at Cape Leeuwin, after which this great oceanic stream was named.

This flow was part of the five great gyres that swirled the oceans of the globe, driven by the Coriolis effect from the rapidly spinning warm equatorial regions to the slow, cold, but fierce polar latitudes. The ocean is the master of the land and source of all life on earth, and at some long ago time, Gretta's ancestors had set out in fine, strong, elegant boats to tame it. Many had lived, but more had died, and the bones of their ships lay rotting in the deeps and shallows of many a sea while the men and women on board swam and sank and fed the fishes in unmarked watery graves.

This coast had lain quiescent, out of the way of the spread of civilizations that traded, raided, and invaded in the northern hemisphere. A dry, dun, low, sandy, and uninviting barrier to the great inland deserts of the western land and their ancient custodians, the warrior people who had walked the Great South trek into ancient and harsh landscapes---rich in ore, iron, gold, and uranium but poor in water and sustenance.

Just a mere few hundred years ago, adventurers from the south of Europe ventured into the tropical seas in search of the rich spices. They had traded for fortunes in the tropic isles and also left the wooden carcasses of their slow, sturdy sailing ships on the shallow reefs and rocky cliffs that guarded the secrets of the land. The ship that Gretta drove was, in essence, just such a wooden ship. Hewn by hand from mighty trees from the forests of Croatia and Central Europe and fashioned by the most skilled shipwrights of England about eighty years ago, she was, in her time, 1929, a radical and priceless swift ocean passage maker. Her purpose was to bring her wealthy owners fame---an anachronism even then, and now a classic antique vessel to be a toy for a rich man with a passion for winning and some respect for sportsmanship.

For mariner master 3 sail Gretta Valkyrie Finneson, in her twenty-ninth year at sea, the boat was hard work. Especially alone, sailing single-handed, for the long delivery passage of over 400 nautical miles.

There must be a solution to the problems that she faced. She thought back to how she had come to be in this situation. The last time she saw her father, he was flat on his back in Carnarvon Hospital, in plaster from the waist down, with his pelvis broken in three places and a compound fracture of his right leg. It would be a long time before he was fit and able again. He had said it might be never.

'Which leaves it all up to me then, doesn't it?' Gretta stated.

'There's nothing you can do, lassie.'

'Yes, I can. I'll do this delivery on the old boat. That'll fix it up.'

'No, lass. Nay. You'll just be putting good money after bad,' her father argued.

'It'll keep them from grabbing Spindrifter.'

Spindrifter was their business, a charter boat, the modern fifty-foot cruising catamaran. They had bought the boat cheap at $500,000, for it would have cost twice that to build. Even so, raising the money had been half miracle, half dangerous gamble. Her father had not told her the details, but she felt that they could be in the hands of dangerous people who would not forgive a late payment or hold off on an injured old man and his daughter.

'Just leave it be, lass,' her father groaned. He was still in much pain but bore in uncharacteristically with patience.

Gretta could not leave it at that, though,'Spindrifter's stuck on a mooring in Carnarvon. Clients are waiting to confirm their bookings for trips, and the next payment was due this week.' She sat beside him, her face on a level with his, but he would not look at her.

He spoke eventually and reluctantly, 'To tell the truth, lass, I think you are tied to the contract to deliver the big old Romany Lady because I listed you as navigator and alternative skipper.'

'I know that. And you see, I'll be able to make enough money, at least to service the next payment on the loan so that we can keep the boat operating.'

'It's a bad business' was all he would say, so she had left him, praying that he would rest and recover. The sight of the man who had been the strength in her life laid-low, helpless, and depressed affected her more than she had realized at the time. She had always depended on him, and now he depended on her.

Only one thing could be done at a time. She did not allow herself to think further ahead. When the payment is made, I can get the tourist trips running and go from month to month until . . . She stopped her thoughts. It was no good feeling helpless or sorry for herself. She did not want to keep thinking of the big catamaran that was her home as well as her livelihood under threat. Spindrifter had been their big dream, and when, after a lifetime of working on other people's boats, they had raised the finance for the boat and gained the vitally essential licences to operate the tourist business, she knew that at last they could look forward to keeping the profits from their work and to hope for the security and the independent life that they had worked so hard for.

Now it all hung in the balance. Now it was up to her. She had survived the ocean and the storm, alone and sufficient to her herself. She had tested the vast blue deserts, and now, she told herself, I am strong enough.

So it was no good feeling like she should just let it all go because she felt it had become beyond her powers. No good wishing the old man had been sober when he fell between the fishing boat and the jetty and broke his body and his spirit. Her father had given up. She saw it in his eyes. He had been lost for years, she realized. She had known him as her strength, her guide, her teacher, her captain, and her friend and family of one man ever since her mother had left them years ago when she was a child, only seven years old.

But it hadn't mattered. Hadn't hurt. Her mother had been the angry one, the fun police, the one who was never happy, always sad, worried, full of cautions, and warnings, and prohibitions, and above all, the naysayer.

It had been their joke: 'Here she comes, Mrs Naysayer.'

But then she was gone, with never a word except 'Goodbye, have a nice life, don't bother to write.' And she walked down the jetty, straight-backed, never looking back---a stiff-necked, short-striding, solid person. Inflexible, demanding, and finally, a deserter.

It had been a shock, though, for after her mother left, Gretta could see what her mother had not been able to show her. Greg Finneson was a drunk. He was lazy, careless, and disorganized. He laughed a lot. He had many friends. He accomplished little and talked more that he actually did.

But his daughter loved him, and he loved her. Together they had called the oceans of the world their playground, and the rich boat owners paid them to play with their fantastic high-tech dreams or to ferry their luxury craft from one port to another---the Mediterranean, the Pacific Islands, across the Atlantic, through the Caribbean. The Finnesons, father and daughter, sailed the seven seas and the five gyres in a perpetual cruise of fair winds, warm seas, fine food and drink in an endless summer of sailing and festivities. Regattas, parties, intense racing, laid-back cruising, year after year of seasons of success and sailing.

Her life had been a dream.

But now in the darkness, she had to wake up, and in waking, she feared that the dark-held perils were direr than any nightmare.

Her life had been a world of good times, but there hadn't been much money, not enough to put by as the cash slipped away or never materialized.

The commissions had dried up.

Finneson's reputation was no longer good. He had wasted money on worthless projects. His skills were outdated. He did not cope with the new technology, and younger men outsmarted him. The boats he skippered lost races, and he could not bluff or joke his way out of it any more. He was aging in a new, powerful, serious sport. The days of camaraderie were gone forever. Yacht races were won in courtrooms. The world media was watching, and not only money but reputations were at stake.

The good life had come to an end.

Her dad had always been her best mate, and it was wrong to blame him now and a waste of time to wish that he had been able to refuse that last dodgy job on an unlicensed boat or the drinks the clients pressed on him that day. Or to wish that there was someone she could turn to for help. But still, she did wish. Thinking positive was the only way to get through. There was too much at stake, and this was her only opportunity to get that few thousand dollars that would pay off the monthly instalment and borrow time to refinance or find some source of income so that she could keep afloat. So now she must carry on, unable to change the forces that had swept her along, but to try to navigate safely not only at sea but also ashore in the grave task that she had chosen to undertake. It was as though she had been swept up in a tidal surge and now must not only stay afloat but also salvage what she could from the wreckage of her life.

Once again, she must put out to sea. She had completed only about one-third of the delivery that she must finish to have any hope of success.

CHAPTER 2

Gale Warning

CHAPTER2.jpg

A idan Gordon Randell had cast off the lines from the jetty in Geraldton with feelings so mixed that he had not been able to decipher what he felt, except that it was unease, and the only other feeling was of an empty space within him that he had not known before. He could see Gretta alone on the boat, heading out to the sea. She did not look back at him. As soon as he released the ropes that had held her boat to the shore, he felt a sense of loss. There was a new part of his being that had come to life unexpectedly, and he could not describe it. Anger, hunger, ambition, need, a sense of his whole self, and knowledge of completeness had surfaced. A certainty of his place in the world, where he should be going and what destiny he was to forge, had been shifted, and a new space in him that was empty had arisen.

He was distressed.

Yesterday we met

Today we are apart

Be with me tomorrow

I was a blank metal sheet

You touched my skin

And engraved your imprint

When you went

You left an abhorrent vacuum

Flow back into me.

Yesterday, Today, Tomorrow

He turned his thoughts to what was at hand. Gretta was leaving, alone on the big old boat, and everything told him that this voyage she was taking was dangerous. He respected her experience, and he believed in her strength and capability, but there was in his soul a powerful dread.

He could not prevent her from sailing off alone. If her father had not been able to stop her, then she would never heed him.

He had spotted Gretta walking down the main street with a few bags of shopping from the central supermarket, and he honked the horn to attract her attention, stopping and throwing open the passenger door for her when she recognized him. She gave him a great smile so open-hearted that he felt a gladness rise in him. It had been a while, he thought.

She went willingly up to the open door and, throwing her bags in the back, climbed up to sit beside him.

'Where are you off to, Gretta?'

'Hello, Aidan.'

'Can I give you a lift?'

'I'm headed for the marina.'

'OK. I'll take you there.'

He pushed through the light traffic in his big heavy Land Cruiser and, ignoring a timid beep of protest from a dusty hatchback, made a U-turn, then headed back down the way he had come, and turned towards the waterfront.

When he had parked near the marina, he turned to smile at her. 'Hello, Gretta, my friend,' he said.

'Aidan, it's so good to see you again.'

'Not since we took the boat to Lookout Bay last year,' he said.

She took his hand, and effortlessly, he leaned over and embraced her.

Her familiar body and open warmth welcomed him.

'Gretta,' he said. 'I've missed you.'

She laughed. 'It's so good to see you. What are you doing here?'

'I'm on my way to the north to work. On Brian Kelly's land, Hunter Downs, the cattle station. I've got a big exhibition coming up, and I have to get away and go bush to get working on the paintings. I can't work down south. And you, what are you doing up here in Geraldton? I thought you were in Shark Bay, and I was going to drop in and see you on my way to Hunter Downs.'

'I'm on a boat delivery.'

'Yacht?'

'Of course. It's an old sailing boat that was bought in Indonesia and is going to Albany.'

'That's a long trip, must be about 5,000 nautical miles.'

'I just picked the delivery up in Carnarvon. They had Indonesian crew, but there were some problems. The sailors were all good, but there were visa problems or import papers or something. I haven't bothered too much about it. I got the offer to take her the rest of the way and took it. It's good money and I need it.'

'When do you leave?'

'Tomorrow.'

'Can I come with you? Who else is coming? Your father, I guess.'

She held his hand tightly. 'No.'

'What's up, my girl?'

'Dad's in hospital. He's injured.'

'Oh, shit. Look, it can't be that bad. Or is it?' He had never seen her look so frail before. She was always strong and laughing.

'It's bad, Aidan. He's broken his leg.'

'Oh, shit.'

'And his pelvis.'

'That is bad. So you're not planning to do this trip alone, are you?'

'Yes. I have to.'

Aidan thought for a while. 'Of course I can come with you. How long will it take do you think? I'll need somewhere to leave the vehicle until I can get back here. I could take a bus back, I guess.'

'No.' She was adamant. 'I need to do this alone.'

He frowned. 'You don't have anything to prove, Gretta. It's a long haul at the best of times. We'll talk about it.'

'No, we won't.'

'Hell, Gretta. Let me come with you.'

'No. It's no big deal, believe me.'

'But I want to sail with you. You know I'm a good hand. And it would be good for me at this time. I need to get out on the water again.'

'Aidan, look, it's not like you're a professional crew. We're just good friends. We hung out together for a while, and bonked a bit.'

'We bonked a lot,' he said. 'It was great. I loved it. We are really good together.'

'Yes,' she agreed, 'we were good together. But you're with Brian's stepdaughter Gwyneth now, I hear.'

'Yes. I'm trying to help her.'

She smiled. 'Always helping people, Aidan. You're a good man.'

'No.' He laughed. 'I'm a wild brute and a bad bastard, but I'd like to sail with you, Gretta. I don't like to think of you taking that old boat to Fremantle on your own.'

'I am perfectly capable, Aidan. I assure you.'

'Yes,