A Yacht Called Erewhon Read Online Free PDF Page A

glow from the entrance dimmed as Dad’s bulk blocked the light. ‘Magnificent, isn’t she?’
    ‘Looks like a lot of bloody hard work to me,’ retorted Matt.
    ‘Yeah, but she’ll be worth every minute we spend on her,’ I replied.
    ‘We’ll make a start in the morning. Let’s measure the gap between those trees, and then we’ll head back to the caravan and get the barbie cranked up,’ Dad said, not wanting to hear any more of Matt’s opinion. ‘I reckon Mum will settle to the idea if we keep her happy.’
    Dad and I stretched the tape over the hull and with a bit of guesswork measured its beam as twenty feet.
    ‘What’s that in metres?’ Matt asked.
    ‘It’s twenty feet!’ Dad snapped back. ‘They didn’t have metres when they built this baby, and I’m sure as hell not going to use metres on her now!’ Matt knew it wasn’t the right time to argue the merits of the metric system, so feet and inches were suddenly fine by him.
    I grabbed the torch and ducked back inside. I’d seen something I wanted to have another look at on my own. I swung the torch from side to side and finally settled on what I was looking for in the corner: a large folded white towel with a black bikini top resting on it.
    Matt swung in through the hole. ‘Come on, we’re going back!’ he said, as he disappeared outside again.
    When I turned back, the towel and top had gone. In a low voice, so as not to be heard outside the hull, I whispered, ‘Come out, whoever you are!’ There wasn’t a sound. I repeated myself,but still no reply. ‘I know you’re in here,’ I continued, but still just an eerie silence.
    ‘Come on, Ben!’
    I turned and headed for the opening, pausing at the exit. In a low voice I said, ‘You don’t have to be afraid—we won’t harm you.’
    ‘I can see you’re really getting into the old lady,’ Dad said, as we headed back.
    ‘What do you mean?’ I replied.
    He grinned. ‘Talking to her.’
    Before we left, we measured the distances between the major trees and marked them on a sketch plan, so we could work out how to manoeuvre the hull past. We had plenty of room until we got close to the water and ran into a cordon of juvenile puriri trees that had obviously grown after the hull had been moved to its resting spot. The largest gap we could find was nineteen feet and six inches at ground level.
    We carried on back to the camp and mulled over the problem on the way. We wanted to honour our commitment to the iwi that we wouldn’t damage any major trees, but the puriri looked like a problem.
    Back at the camp, Mum was in her hammock, sound asleep. Once we had a big driftwood fire roaring in the barbie and cold cans in our hands, Dad, Matt and I sat down around the camp table.
    As the beer flowed and the fire died down to glowing embers, we tossed ideas around. Dad had prefabricated three rubber-wheeled bogies: the plan was to cut a track from the hull to the beach and then jack the hull up onto the bogies, placed in a tricycle formation. With the aid of the bulldozer, we’dgently drag the whole rig to the river. The only damage would be to the regrowth scrub. All the large trees would remain. This left us the problem of the gap between the puriri.
    Mum rejoined the land of the living and, lured by the delicious smell from the barbie, wandered over. ‘If you only need another few inches, why not bend the trees back?’ she asked.
    We laughed…and then stopped to think about what she’d just said. The trees wouldn’t move at ground level, but surely we could widen the gap a little further up the trunks? If we got ropes on the top of the trunks and gently pulled the trees away from each other with the bulldozer, we should be able to get the gap we needed. It was just a matter of building a ramp to the necessary height and drawing the hull through.
    ‘Simple!’ said Dad as he hugged Mum.
    The steaks were ready, and Mum threw a salad together. She must have been feeling good to break her