Tuesday, October 16, 2012

Final Blog - Shore School


My old friend and sometimes teaching colleague, John Meakins, picks me up at 7:30 AM for the trip to Shore. John and I exchanged jobs in 1982. He and his wife Wendy (and baby) came to US in Cleveland, while Mary and I came to Sydney and Shore. We have kept up all these years; indeed we have seen each other as recently as August, when John and Wendy joined me on Kiawah to participate in the PGA Tournament.

 Peter and John inspect Graythwaite House at Shore

As Shore has been on Spring Break for the past two weeks, my schedule is a bit sketchy. John has some rough plans that I will teach a few History classes. He says the Chaplain is interested in having me speak in Chapel, and I have been told that I will have morning tea with the Headmaster.  I am confident that everything will fall together. Good schools are opportunistic.

 Morning tea with Phil Wood and Jack Girard

The one definitive event on the itinerary is that I am to meet the first recipient of the “Peter F. Conway Scholarship”. He is an 11 year old boy with the delightful name of James Trevelyan-Jones.  James and his parents will have morning tea with me and representatives of the school. I imagine that he will be terrified to be on display  before  a bunch of strange adults.  I would have been at his age.

 The  Trevelyan-Jones family

For my part, I am a bit self-conscious about my name being on the scholarship, but that is how Shore does things. Most of its scholarships are named after the donor or honoree. However, I am thrilled to have established it. It is a scholarship which fills a niche dear to my heart. It is for sons of full-time Christian workers who are not clergy (Shore has other scholarships for clergy). An example of the kind of family I am hoping to reach is sons of missionaries who could never afford a private school. In the case of young James, his father Warren is the choir director of one of Sydney’s oldest churches – St. James. It has three choirs connected to it, one of which is professional.  Prior to starting his job at St. James, Warren was on the full-time staff of Westminster Abbey. His wife Sarah is a music teacher as well.

James and his family arrive at the appointed hour. He is dressed in his school uniform – Turramurra Primary School, where he is in grade six. He sips nervously at a glass of water while tea is poured for the adults. It is all stiff and formal.  We adults make small talk while James stares nervously at his hands. At the prompting of his mum, he looks up and makes a well-rehearsed thank you speech for providing the scholarship.  Giving it one last shot, I ask him if he likes sports. WELL – he lights up at this and proceeds to talk about ALL of the sports he plays. Cricket, soccer, basketball, athletics, cross country, he does them all (and quite well too, says his dad). He wants to know if he can play them all at Shore, and add rowing and rugby as well.

 His dad interjects that James has a lovely voice and might audition for the choir. James gives him a withering glance. I relax. He will do just fine at Shore, and who knows, he might yet decide to join the choir or play his trombone in the orchestra. Once the ice is broken, James proves to be a lively and self-confident young man.

 PFC & J TJ

A classmate of mine asked me why I felt so strongly about Shore. Why would I establish a scholarship?  After all, I have been in Australia a small portion of my total life, and not much at all as an adult. Ah, but the portion of my life spent in Sydney were formative years indeed! My Australian visits as an adult have always involved being on campus at Shore.

Why the scholarship? Simply put, I came of age while a Shore boy. I arrived at Shore as an awkward 13 year old, but left at age 18 with a purpose, a faith, leadership skills and an excellent preparation for college. It was at Shore where I was inspired to examine my nascent faith and make it my own. It was at Shore where I decided that I wanted to be a school teacher and a coach. Finally, it was at Shore where I made of number of intimate friends who remain so despite half a world’s separation.

Would I have made the same life choices if we had remained in the States? God only knows. But the point is this - Shore was the crucible for much of what has become the best of me. I want to give back by giving boys of the future the chance to encounter the same challenges and opportunities which confronted me.

Notwithstanding, I would never have considered establishing a scholarship at Shore if it had not grown into a much better school than it was in the 60’s. As wonderful as the outcome was for me, there were things I detested about the Shore of my era. There was hazing, student to student. As a foreigner I experienced it, and I witnessed many other examples of schoolboy cruelty to anyone who was different. There were sadistic teachers who had no business having a free hand, often with a cane, in the classroom. There were incompetent teachers who not only had no business being in the classroom, but who were sadistically tormented by us pupils. In turn, the Shore staff contained some of the finest teachers I have ever encountered at any level – iterations of Mr. Chips – whose examples I tried to emulate when I became a schoolmaster.

In essence, from the Head down, Shore practiced a “school of hard knocks” philosophy which sometimes tolerated cruelty in the name of muscular Christianity.  Shore teachers, coaches and prefects often resorted to berating and bullying in the belief that breaking a boy down is the best way to build up a man. Once I embarked on a teaching career of my own, I rejected that view. Oh yes, like the Marine Corps, it can work – for some. But the price is steep. Far too many of my Shore classmates have wanted nothing to do with the school since the day they escaped the confines of its halls. “Muscular Christians” would do well, in my experience, to apply more of the golden rule and less of the rod of correction.  

Shore has long since abandoned the cane and most of the other behaviors that it symbolizes. The ideals of service, brotherhood and teamwork now have the upper hand. The teachers actually seem to enjoy teaching the young, foolish and impressionable, and respond with patience more than petulance. If young James Trevelyn-Jones chooses to abandon cricket to concentrate on the trombone, he will be respected by all. But somehow I doubt he will.
At the Shore playing fields, Northbridge

Sunday, October 14, 2012

Airlie Beach and return to Sydney


60th AUS Trip Blog 14
Bob and Barnaby sing sea shanties
 
All good things must come to an end, and after a de-brief from Sailor Bob and his little dog too, Andrew and Margaret depart for the airport.  Dave, Kank and I remain for one last day in Airlie Beach. 

After the confines of the boat, the mainland seems huge and as if it is rocking. We have developed sea-legs, and are not used to being on land. Dave has rented a surprisingly upscale apartment for our last day in paradise. It is so nice, in fact, that when I reach it independently of them, I turn around without going in, sure I have the address wrong. I drag my suitcase to the Youth Hostel, thinking that this is more likely. When I finally reach Dave on the phone, he confirms that we are indeed staying at the Boathouse Inn, Harbourside. How posh.
Our posh accomodations in Airlie Beach
 
As usual, we all do our own thing. Kank is off walking, and has booked a pedicure. Dave goes off with his book to the town beach. I accompany him there, and then explore the shops. I am beginning to think of gifts for Mary and the girls.

 We get take out fish n chips and a few bottles of beer and eat in our luxury flat. A very quiet day, all told, but nice to have a bit more of Queensland before heading back south.
 


Afternoon tea in Airlie
 
 The Sunday return trip to Sydney is uneventful. No last minute dashes to the airport. I continue to be amazed that I can go through security and board a plane without once having to show ID.

 

Tomorrow, I start the final chapter of this trip – three days at Shore School. Shore is my High School, and I was on staff there in 1982. I am looking forward to being back there.

Whitehaven Beach to Pioneer Bay


60th AUS Trip Blog 13

 Anticipating a third night of rolls, creaks and groans in our exposed anchorage, we agreed to rise at dawn and scoot over to Whitehaven in order to get a good spot. Just as well it is our last night; a ‘bullet’ has whipped our chart overboard during the night. We do have a spare, thank the Lord.

 Whitehaven is a 5 km stretch of brilliant white sand, pure silica. I wonder if it would make good frackking sand. We could suck the whole thing right up and ship it off to the gas fields. Just kidding.

Whitehaven Beach with Tongue Bay in distance
 
We arrive around 7 am, and the day is shaping up perfectly. Lighter winds, bright blue skies and a gentle swell. A few boats bob in the anchorage, its occupants still asleep. There is a campground on the beach; where did the campers come from? Later we found out that you need to hire a boat to drop you, your supplies and your solar panels. It is a tranquil scene.

 Whitehaven before the tourist onslaught

Glad we got here early. Whitehaven is the Whitsunday’s version of Sydney’s Manly Beach. By 10 AM a cruise ship has disgorged a sea of humanity, a seaplane has splashed down dramatically and numerous yachts make the anchorage like a parking lot. The place is packed.

 Tourists come from all directions

Luckily we have all done our thing by then. Kank has jogged the beach twice, Dave has completed his ablutions, Andrew and I have hiked to the top of a small hill which overlooks Whitehaven and has views back to the mainland. We have morning tea on the boat and push off.

 The sailing is fantastic! We have a tailwind of 15-20 knots; we are able to run out all sail and we fly back up the coast. Heeling over jauntily, Waterman bucks like a frisky colt. We take turns at the wheel trying to outdo each other on speed. 7 knots, then 8; finally yours truly coaxes 9.3 knots after some judicious sail trimming. I am accused by the crew of withholding sail handing information from them until it was my turn. I would never do anything like that; there is not a competitive bone in my body.

Peter finding every bit of speed

Feeling frisky ourselves, Commodore Andrew and I decide to sail through Hook passage, the narrow channel of flukey winds we had motored through the day before. Margaret is poring over the chart, for banks of coral await those who don’t stay in the channel.  As we fly into the passage, a bullet from the opposite direction throws us all aback. We flounder around trying to regain control and adjust to a headwind rather than a tailwind. I start the engine as a precaution. In the end we are able get through under sail, but the wind has come at us from every point of the compass. In all the confusion of sail handling, we mistake a channel marker for a port side marker, when it is really a reef warning marker. Margaret spots our mistake just in time to avoid sailing onto the reef.

As we emerge from the channel, another bullet causes our Commodore’s shoe to fly overboard. We dare not turn the boat with coral all around, so Andrew hops into the dinghy and goes back for it. Luckily, his shoe is a floater, a bright green Croc.

 
 
Andrew Celebrates the return of his Croc

Andrew eventually retrieves his shoe and then the chase begins. Can he catch us, now sailing downwind again, with his tiny 6 horsepower motor?  We furl our headsail to give him a chance. He is falling behind. We trim our main. He is now a dot on the horizon. Finally we reach a bay, where we can turn around and sail back to him. “You took your bloody time!” was all a wind whipped and spray soaked Andrew could splutter as he clambered back on board.

 
Pioneer Bay
Our destination that evening is Pioneer Bay, an anchorage just outside the confines of Airlie Beach Harbor. Our sailing is over. It is a bittersweet feeling as we enjoy our last meal on the Waterman. Tomorrow we return the boat, debrief with sailor Bob, and go our merry ways.
Bob debriefs

Friday, October 12, 2012

Tongue Bay


60th AUS Trip Blog 12

 You’re expecting me to say that the wind has abated, right? Wrong. Gale in the morning. But it is expected to abate by mid-afternoon. We get permission to try for Whitehaven Beach if we wait until the afternoon.

We decide to head over to Langford Island for the morning. Langford is a tiny dot of a couple acres. Attached to it is a mile long sandbar which is exposed at low tide. Langford is a favorite shelling and picnic spot.

 Langford Island

After we pick up a mooring (we are three for three on first attempts to snag a mooring),
we dinghy ashore. At high tide the sandbar is completely submerged, but at low tide it is completely exposed. We are at half tide, with the tide on the rise. The middle part of the sandbar is about two feet underwater, while the ends are high and dry. We decide to “walk on water” from one side to the other. It may sound silly, but it was really quite fun. As we returned, the tide was already a foot higher. Another hour and we would have had to swim for it. This is life on the cutting edge for 60 year olds.

Dave disappears into the bush for his daily necessity, Andrew reads a book on the beach, Kank goes for a hike and I decide to snorkel and check out the coral reef.  Margaret is on the boat having her quiet time.  To each, his or her own.

 Just as we are splitting up, a helicopter arrives and deposits a couple on the beach right next to us. A picnic hamper, beach chairs and snorkeling equipment are unloaded. We are extras in the lifestyles of the rich and famous.

 

We reconvene on the boat for Morning Tea. We then set out for Whitehaven Beach, via Hook Passage, which runs between Hook Island and Whitsunday.

 
Strong wind on way to Hook passage
 
Due to strong currents and flukey winds, we decide to motor through the passage.  We plan to set sail when we get to the east side of Whitsunday. Wrong. As we emerge from the passage, we hit huge swells and gale force headwinds. Obviously the wind god did not get the memo about abating after noon.

 Feeling like I am auditioning for Perfect Storm 2, we battle onwards under motor into wind and wave. Crashes come from below. Things break. But nobody goes below. We all know that going below in these conditions means seasickness. To pass the time, we speculate about how much motoring we can do before our diesel runs out. We note that there are no other boats out on this side of the passage. We skip Afternoon Tea.

 As we crawl downwind, we decide to abandon plans for Whitehaven Beach and duck into Tongue Bay, about ¾ of the way to our destination. We arrive at Tongue Bay and find, unsurprisingly, that it is full. Everyone on this side of the island is hunkered down. We end up anchoring in the mouth of the harbor, with our stern almost in the channel. I know that we are in for another wild night.

 Anxious to abandon ship, if temporarily, we all pile into the dinghy to explore Tongue Bay. The chart shows that there is a track over the point to Betty’s Beach, a pristine white sand beach. We are rewarded with some of the most beautiful sights we have yet seen.

The wind and waves have eroded the dunes and Betty’s beach has a stunning grove of trees that are held up in the air
solely by their roots! Tidal flats are shimmering coppery in the sunset, while post-storm clouds scud through the sky. It is magical.

 





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Kank is preparing fresh fish, with side vegetables and salad. Yes, FRESH fish. Kank has requested that we fish for our supper, so she has not bought any fish for this meal. She is delusional; none of us are fishermen. In fact, we do not even try. The best we come up with is to consider kayaking to the other boats and offering to buy fish from them.

Luckily, I had bought some tins of tuna fish, thinking it would be a good lunch dish. It is amazing how fresh tinned tuna tastes if you just close your eyes and imagine.

 

 


Thursday, October 11, 2012

Butterfly Bay


60th AUS Trip Blog 11

There is a big blow overnight on Stonehaven Bay. Rain lashes the boat. The wind howls through the rigging. The bulkhead in my berth develops a load grinding noise as the boat pitches up and down. Dinghy and kayaks go bump in the night. I have to close my porthole to avoid being drenched.

My sleep is frequently interrupted by loud noises, including Dave’s stentorian snores, which are competing on an equal footing with the rain and the grinding bulkhead. When asleep I dream that I am being chased through the rainforest by a howling tiger who is grinding his teeth. 

In the morning, it is no surprise that radioman Dave reports that we are still no-go for our Shangri-La of Whitehaven Beach, which, alas, lies on the windward side of Whitsunday Island. Instead, we opt to head to the top of Hook Island to Butterfly Bay. This will position us for a possible run to Whitehaven tomorrow.

 Taking on the gale
                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                         
 The wind is fierce and it is raining in spurts. Not what the brochures show. We reef our mainsail and only put out half of our headsail. With all of the cockpit controlled furling systems on this boat, it is easy to adjust the sails. The ride is exhilarating; waves breaking on our bows while the swell from astern makes steering a bit unpredictable. Everyone has a turn as skipper and enjoys the challenge.

 Kank at the helm                

Our destination is Butterfly Bay, which is shaped like a starfish. OK, it is shaped like a butterfly. However, as we will find out to our delight, it is not called Butterfly Bay because of its shape, but because millions of butterflies live in the bush just off of the beach.. If you walk under the trees, they all arise en masse like a swarm of locusts. Really cool.

 
There are butterflies in these trees!

Everyone leaves the boat to investigate. I decide to kayak around the whole bay. It takes about an hour and a half. The wind is so strong that when going into it you sometimes get blown backwards even when paddling. The hills of the Whitsundays create things called “bullets” – intense gusts of wind that are 2-3 times the wind strength. I get struck by numerous bullets as I traverse Butterfly Bay.

Meanwhile Dave, Kank and Andrew are exploring the bush, where they discover the butterflies. Margaret decides to have a quiet time on the boat. This is pretty much a daily need for her. If Kank has a burning desire to exercise; Margaret has a burning desire to curl up alone with a book. Slowly, we are learning to shape the day so that everyone gets what he or she needs.

 I need a daily challenge. Kayaking into bullets satisfies me for today. Sailing in gale breezes does it too. Trying to keep up with a parrotfish is yet another challenge.

 What do Dave and Andrew need? Andrew loves to explore and to discover. It is he who notices the leaves that ants have cemented together for a nest, or the bright purple “bommie”, (a coral head) or stingrays in the surf. Dave is the man for all seasons. He likes to swim, kayak, bushwalk or read a book on the beach. He also prefers to do his business in the bush rather than in the boat’s head, where it is dumped right into the ocean.

 Dave enjoying his  book

That night Andrew serves up a delicious meal of barbequed lamb, with sides of potato and salad. I am happy that I am getting my lamb fix while Down Under.

 The sea conditions that night make sleeping difficult. The bullets come at infrequent intervals, but they always wake me up. The swell hits us from the beam (side), so we roll dramatically.  It is amazing that nobody has gotten sea-sick.
Waterman at Butterfly Bay

Stonehaven Bay


60th AUS Trip Blog 10

 The sailors are getting the bitter end of the rope, while the cardio crew is enjoying extended land time. Radioman Dave reported in and was warned of gale winds for the next two days. We were advised to either stay put in comfy Cid Harbor, or maybe creep up the western coast a bit to Stonehaven Bay on Hook Island. We choose the latter option, but delay our departure until after morning tea.
the Skipper awaits morning tea
 
My Aussie friends are habituated to morning tea and, indeed, afternoon tea, although they rarely announce them as such. Just as I am gearing up for some kind of activity, someone shouts, “Anyone for a cuppa?” Even Kank settles in for a civilized half hour of tea (or coffee) and some biscuits or fruit. We have even done this while under sail. Secretly, I find this charming, and it is probably good for my blood pressure. Often the conversation is quite deep, such as Margaret’s query to each of us in turn – “What do your children really think of you?”  And; “What do you really think of your children?” Thankfully, what is shared on the boat stays on the boat.

 Morning tea

In Australia I always revert to drinking tea instead of coffee. As a teenager, coffee was rarely offered but tea was always served up. Plus, Aussie coffee in the 60’s was awful – o really cheap and bitter instant. Australians now do coffee really well; better, I think, than Americans. You just have to learn the 30 or so coffee options. You can have a flat white or a short black. You can probably have a flat black or a short white, but I haven’t dared to ask. There are Mochas, Cappuccinos with Soy, and then there’s something that sounds like a “Mikado”, but I’m sure I’ve got the term wrong. It is a short black with an extra dollop of espresso. I like my coffee flat white, with no sugar. And I like my tea with full cream milk.

Aussies have really got to discover half n half. Enough with the coffee options – get a few more milk options. They have skim or full cream milk. How boring. What about 2% or 1%? Or, no fat, flavored creamers? Get with it, Australia, a whole world of milk options awaits!

 With tea time over, we hoist or sails and have a short yet brisk sail downwind to Stonehaven Bay on Hook Island. We drop anchor in the early afternoon and explore the harbor. It turns out to be really good snorkeling. There’s a plethora of coral shapes, some of which make you laugh out loud. I think I spot a lobster hiding in a hole, but I am afraid to investigate. I try to chase a parrot fish and watch him take sharp turns and shortcuts under the coral to shake me off his trail. But I am as fast as he is. Eventually he dives under a mushroom coral and does not reappear. He wins.

 Time to snorkel

That night it is my turn to cook. I have bought snags – Aussie sausages. Actually, HEAPS of snags. Four dozen of them for five people, one of whom is vegetarian. We decided to only cook half the snags. Tonight I choose the traditional lamb and also beef. Kank has one snag, the “boys” polish off the rest.  Heavy duty snorkeling will do that to you.

Coral samples
 
Below: A coral "bommie"

Cid Harbor


60th AUS Trip Blog 9

 
 
The offending dinghy
 
We all awoke early Monday morning. Whether it was due to the gentle rocking and creaking of the boat, the wind whistling through the rigging or, for me, the banging of the dinghy against the hull right outside my berth, we all emerged around 6 AM. Tea was brewed. Kank of course swam to shore as a prelude to  her run on the beach, walk on the track and kayak around the cove. All before breakfast.
The Commodore checks the wind while the radioman checks in

Our 8 o’clock radio call confirmed what we were experiencing – the wind was freshening. All boats with our charter company are required to be at their radios at 8 AM to hear the latest weather and tide information and to tell the company our plans. If they like our plans, well and good. If they think we are being foolish, they suggest alternatives.

 Our plan was to sail around the top of Hayman Island, which is open ocean, and then run down the east side of Whitsunday Island in preparation of visiting Whitehaven Beach on Tuesday. As we would be sailing into the trade-winds all day, we were preparing for a long sail with much practice in sail handling as we tacked down the coast.

 Radioman Dave relayed this plan, which was rejected. The base said that winds were building and that small craft warnings were expected in the afternoon. They suggested that we keep on the east side of Hook and Whitsunday Islands to use them as wind screens as we tacked south. So, consulting our chart, we decided to head for Cid Harbour, one of the most protected anchorages in the whole  chain.

 
On the way to Cid Harbor
Once underway we found the going was slow, even in the lee of Hook and Whitsunday Islands. Nonetheless, the boat handled comfortably and we all got a chance to man the helm and trim the sails. We got more comfortable with our GPS navigation system and even tried out the auto-pilot . We got to Sawmill Bay in Cid Harbor in the early afternoon, and anchored for the night.

 Approaching Cid Harbor, anchor crew on deck

With the afternoon before us, we decided to climb Whitsunday Peak, the highest peak on Whitsunday Island. At 437 meters elevation it did not seem that tall to me, but it was a steep and very winding track. In no particular rush it took us about 1 ½ hours to reach the summit. Kank was the first to reach the summit, of course!
 

 Kank rests at the top of Whitsunday Peak

We were rewarded with magnificent views in every direction. We also met Nick, a schoolteacher and coach, who had sprinted up the hill in 27 minutes. We felt like old fogies, which we actually are. 

From Whitsunday Peak we could see in every direction; as the sun began to set we wound our way back downhill to Margaret, who was busy in the galley whipping up a tantalizing pasta dish with pesto and caper sauce. We ate well, drank a bottle of wine and retired early.