New Year Island & the long blue sea-time of the soul.

We finally crossed the Gulf of Carpentaria and rounded Cape Wessel, that long low finger of aboriginal land pointing north like a knife. The wind had dropped to a steady 18-20 knots and we flew the Parasailor until supper time, hauling us along steadily at a great pace as we gazed at the sandy shores and low cliffs topped by the tall tower of the lighthouse. I'd contemplated flying the "kite" during the clear moonlit nights, but it's just as well we didn't as it blew up to 30+knots and it takes at least three to get it down safely.

We've now had a couple of days across the Arafura Sea with the wind forcing us south into the wide bay until it eventually went east and we gybed out towards New Year Island. It's quite entertaining to be sailing through a landscape of dates, some more memorable than others. Back in the Torres Straits someone even swapped the names of Thursday and Friday Islands so that they would run in sequence with the previous two days of the week.

I have just read "Any Human Heart" by William Boyd in 24 hours. Quite gripping and, on a different intellectual level, a bit akin to "The One Hundred Year Old Man who climbed out of a Window" in its parade of famous people that the central character meets though his life. The very personal insight into one man's hopes, loves, sexuality, mistakes, loneliness and death was rather voyeuristic, but left me feeling very bound up in it.

I have a sad feeling that if my life comes down to no more than a series of journal entries, then I should strive to make them as interesting as possible. Carpe diem.


 When occasionally penned, my private journal rarely dares to be as candid as his. But then it is not intended to sell as a novel. Rare attempts at exploring my feelings on paper leave me aware that I have sown a minefield which an unexpected reader would detonate. This blog is about as candid as I get, normally.

More to the point this reinforces my knowledge that what counts in life is not the journal entries, which provide for later revival of lost memories, but the vibrancy of family and friendships and how one contributes to them. So I apologise, to all who care for my company, for vanishing to sea for two years, and am intensely grateful to everyone who has been able come to share the Long Blue Sea-Time of the Soul aboard Tin Tin.