Back to the Fray 60 Days, Book Three
Far offshore, the yacht Svarlin is fast-reaching through the night when a half-sunken shipping container comes through her hull. At dawn, Marge sends the mayday. Can Tane Nui, with Isaac, Esmé and Ernest, get there in time?
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| Format | Paperback |
|---|---|
| Size | A5, 150 × 211 mm |
| Pages | 226 |
| Weight | 363 g |
| Illustrations | Illustrated by the author |
| ISBN | 978-1-7645753-3-1 |
| Reading age | 10 and up |
For parents
An adventure sailing story about children maintaining their values against all odds. They are chased at sea, captured and escape; boats are damaged and sunk; but they survive to forgive.
The books will appeal to readers who loved Swallows and Amazons and Tomorrow When the War Began.
Read the series in order
- Book One: Evacuate South – Go North
- Book Two: Escape East
- Book Three: Back to the Fray (this book)
Prologue
As predicted the breeze picked up at about midnight and turned more west. Although fast reaching, Sam felt Svarlin was overpowered and got Pop to change down to the number two genoer.
A fast but very wet ride. Marge joined Sam in the cockpit just before dawn with a mug each of strong black coffee with lots of sugar.
“She likes this,” said Marge, “must be doing well over 8 knots.”
“8.5 knots on the log,” replied Sam, “but could you just go down and take a tweak in on the genny, the winds backed more to the west?”
Svarlin had large double speed winches and with a knee on the lee side cockpit seat Marge took in a couple of turns.
“How’s that?” she asked as she looked forward at luff of the genoer in the growing dawn light.
Then:
“Sam! Sam! There’s something in the water just below us, stay up, stay up,” she called.
Sam bent forward in front of the tiller to look where she was pointing, just in time to see a huge pyramid appear out of the dark and slip past along Svarlin’s lee gunwale.
They both looked back.
“A half sunken container,” said Sam.
“There’s another dead ahead!” yelled Marge.
Pop had spent his off watch in his storm coat in anticipation that if the breeze picked up anymore, he would have to change headsails down again.
He had unclipped his lee cloth that prevented him rolling out of his bunk and just swung his legs down onto the cabin sole when he heard the shouting in the cockpit.
The impact threw him forward against the main bulkhead and he saw with horror the corner of the barnacle encrusted container come through Svarlin’s hull. Her momentum rolled the corner out, but as she stopped the corner reappeared, blocking the hole it had created.
Water poured through the gap between Svarlin’s hull and this ugly corner. ‘De’ja’ vu’ thought Pop, as his first reaction was to find a cushion big enough to fill the hole. Instantly he realised it was out of the question.
He leapt up the companionway steps.
“Flares Pop, get the flares,” called Marge down at him above the roar of the flapping sails. “Sam inflate the life raft,” she called taking charge, while she squeezed past Pop frozen in the hatch.
Marge thrust a bright yellow plastic tube into Pop’s hand and went back down below.
“Marge!” yelled Sam.
“Mayday, mayday, mayday, all ship all ships, this is the yacht Svarlin, our position is 157.45 degrees east, 30.30 degrees south, we have struck an object and are sinking fast.”
She repeated into the microphone.
“Mayday, mayday, mayday, all ship all ships, this is the yacht Svarlin, our position is 157.45 degrees east, 30.30 degrees south, we have struck an object and are sinking fast.