(Two observations: of course, as AIR NIUGINI's internal auditor, I proudly wore
their t-shirt; and in today's lawless Port Moresby it would be impossible to
simply "park" those boats unguarded along the road outside the yacht club)
Time, location, and money permitting, I've always managed to have a boat in the islands, from trapeze-sailed high-performance FIREBALLs and high-speed LASERs to gunter-rigged HERONs and laid-back CORSAIRs. There we were, Brian and I, rigging up for what would become an unforgettable Sunday out on Fairfax Harbour.
We had sailed from Port Moresby's Royal Papuan Yacht Club far out to sea, well past Gemo Island and halfway to Daugo Island, when the wind shifted. Brian, my inexperienced crew, failed to respond to my shouted command "Lee ho!" to move his body to the other side of the crossing boom, and the boat healed, then capsized and fully turned turtle.
I probably would have never capsized on my own, but Brian redeemed himself by diving under the boat and pushing the centreboard back through the slot while I sat astride the upturned hull, grapped it and put all my weight on it to ever so slowly pull the waterlogged boat and mast and sail and dangling rigging upright again. I would never have been able to do this on my own and may well have ended up as shark food.
(This "near-death experience" prompted me to fit all my future boats with a belaying pin at the bottom of their centreboards so they could never again fully fall out from their slots.)
Did we have life jackets or emergency flares with us? Are you kidding? We were in our twenties and indestructible. Nor were sharks put off by life jackets and we were too far out to sea for any flares to be seen.
We lost all our beer but only very nearly our lives.
