Kijana (2 page)

That letter sealed my fate. I entered Year 11 in February 1998, determined to do the best I could. But about two weeks into the school year I received a phone call. It was the skipper of the boat in Florida – the new crewman had failed to arrive. Did I want to join them? They'd be in Belize, a small country bordering Mexico and Guatemala on the Caribbean Sea's Gulf of Honduras, in a fortnight. If I was coming I had to meet them there, he said.

I was beside myself when I got off the phone, having mumbled something about getting back to him. Then the reality of the situation sank in. I had already started school. If I were to embark on the trip it would probably put me too far behind in my schoolwork to catch up and allow me to make a proper go of VCE. Luckily, Mum knew how much I desperately wanted to go, and said she would support me in whatever I decided, so I went for it.

I only had a bit over a week to organise my schooling and equipment for half a year at sea. I scraped together some money, as it was going to cost $150 a week to crew on the yacht to cover food and overheads. Once again, I had to borrow the money from Mum.

I flew to Belize on my own and somehow found the skipper in a dusty street. We set off for an amazing trip through the Panama Canal across the Pacific Ocean to the Galapagos Islands and Tahiti.

Dave, the skipper, was a lot more easygoing than most other sailors I'd ever met. He didn't care if I drank as much beer as I could hold and Dave never once told me to do my homework. But the best thing about sailing with Dave was that I learnt so much simply by watching him. He was far from the snobby sailor who relied on a plethora of electronic equipment to get anywhere. Dave ran a simple but effective ship, sailing as nature intended it. As I observed his methods, I realised I could do everything he did. It was commonsense. I just had to know which rope to pull. The idea of sailing around the world no longer seemed such a big deal.

By the time we arrived in Tahiti after three and a half months on board I decided that if I was going to have a serious go at the age record I had better get home and do it. I left Dave, flew home, and set about making my dream come true.

The preparation for the solo trip was a blur. I set a departure date of December, which meant I only had four months to get a boat, secure sponsorship, convince a yacht club to allow me to use their facilities and organise some publicity that, in turn, would hopefully attract some sponsors. I had set a tight departure schedule to give me time to return before I was 18 years and 41 days of age, which would break David Dicks's age record.

Somehow we did it. I bought
Lionheart
, an S&S 34, with money Mum lent me after re-mortgaging her house. Miraculously, Matthew Gerard, the head of electrical company Mistral, joined the effort as the major sponsor, providing $160,000 for equipment and labour to get the boat ready in time (it was a deal that would see Matthew eventually outlay $350,000 all up); Sandringham Yacht Club broke the shackles of yacht club stiffness to provide me with a launching pad; and the
Herald Sun
newspaper came on board with an offer for me to write a weekly diary for school kids so that they could follow my progress. All this happened in the space of a few months.

While that was going on, I was learning everything about solo sailing, navigation, weather and generally how to survive anything the sea would throw at me.

I set sail on Sunday 6 December 1998, from Sandringham, farewelled by about 350 people. I was 17 years and 100 days of age. Over the next 11 months I sailed around the bottom of New Zealand, around Cape Horn, up to the Azores, which was the antipodal point of my journey (the exact opposite point of the earth from my starting point), down to the Cape of Good Hope and across the Southern Ocean to home.

It seems odd describing my trip in one sentence, but that was basically it.

During the trip I suffered the boredom of becalming, the terror of
Lionheart
being knocked over, and the pure elation of rounding Cape Horn. I also suffered the agony of loneliness and the joy of nature at its finest. And I discovered exactly what I was capable of and what I wanted out of life, to the point where I could do anything I imagined.

The 27,000-mile journey was meant to take only eight months to complete, but calm weather blew it out considerably, to nearly 11 months. At 6.28 a.m. on 31 October 1999, at the Port Phillip Heads – 327 days, 12 hours and 52 minutes since I had last passed that point – I became the youngest person to sail solo, nonstop and unassisted around the world. I was older than Dicks, at 18 years and 66 days, but was able to claim the record for, unlike David, I hadn't received any assistance during the trip.

As I returned I knew deep down that my life was about to change dramatically. My suspicion was confirmed as I sat in my yacht off Sandringham Yacht Club and marvelled at the sight before me. The media reports said there were 25,000 people waiting for me that day. I don't doubt it.

Along the breakwater were more faces than I'd ever seen before – old people, young people, people I knew, but mainly people I'd never seen before. My first thought when I realised that all those tiny dots lining the shore were people was: ‘what the hell are they doing here?' I knew there had been a lot of interest in my trip through the diaries I'd been writing in the newspaper, but to think that so many people would come to see me was beyond my comprehension.

The cheer from the crowd as I stepped from
Lionheart
was deafening, a bit like you'd hear at a football match. I was really touched by the reception. It made me feel warm all over and tingling inside. In those rare few seconds I felt like letting out my own roar. I wanted to step outside myself and feel in awe of what I had achieved. I wanted to hug someone. No, I wanted to hug everyone. I wanted to be like them, watching a kid who had left Melbourne on a blustery day with little experience but with a plan to sail on his own, nonstop and unassisted around the world.

People wanted me to sign flags that had been handed out for my arrival and some hardy souls even wanted photos of me holding their babies. I felt like I was up for re-election.

I was shown to a room packed with cameras and reporters. Everyone I knew looked so different, kind of grown up. I sat at a table with a microphone and a glass of water and answered questions.

‘How does it feel to be back?' was the first question.

How could I explain that?

‘It feels great,' I said.

‘What was the hardest time?'

‘The storm I had off South Africa.'

That was an easier question, for I'd had five knockdowns that night and didn't know if my mast would still be up by the morning.

‘What are you going to do now?'

‘You mean after drinking beer with my friends?'

I was being flippant, but I knew exactly what I was going to do. I was going back onto the waves, to sail the world again. But this time it would be different. I would take my mates and stop off at the most remote and unexplored places in the world. We would experience all types of adventures in the far-off lands I'd sailed past. We'd see cultures I'd read about in
National Geographic
. We'd ride across barren Easter Island on horseback and swat mosquitoes in Borneo.

As I sat there, being grilled by the media, I was raring to go. I'd spent the previous three months typing away on my laptop computer, putting down my vision for the trip. So I answered the question again.

‘I want to go around again on a Polynesian catamaran with friends, navigating by the stars and living as they did a century ago.'

I didn't know how I was going to make it happen. I had no money. In fact, as I sat there, I was hopelessly in debt. But I felt like the richest man in the world because I had my dreams. I could have as many as I wanted and I knew I could live them all.

The next few months were crazy. I had 11 months of life to catch up on. While I was sitting aboard
Lionheart
all my mates were finishing school, getting their drivers licences and partying hard. It was a time of great change for any 18-year-old, let alone one who had missed out on so much.

Not long after I returned I was approached to see if I was interested in becoming involved with Reach, a youth organisation. I was invited to a breakfast Reach was holding to raise money at one of those swanky hotels in the city that no one I knew could possibly afford to stay at. And it was so early! Hell, if I knew it was going to be on that early my Reach involvement may never have happened. The mainly corporate audience had paid to hear about the work of Reach, eat breakfast, and be in the office by 9 a.m.

Any thoughts of feeling sorry for myself because of my lack of sleep quickly disappeared when some young people got up and began telling their stories about their violent families, school troubles, drug addictions and their dreams for the future. It was raw and honest and I was genuinely moved. I wanted to know more about these people and how Reach had helped them. I started attending the courses run by the young members of Reach for school kids.

Meanwhile, I was getting more and more requests to talk about my trip from organisations, ranging from primary schools that had followed
Lionheart
's voyage, to companies who wanted their employees to hear an inspirational message.

I was terribly nervous standing up in front of an audience because I'm not someone who likes attention. And it showed. My words came out in some twisted form that barely made sense. I rambled on, spewing out whatever came into my mind. However, people encouraged me and I generally received a good response from my audiences. It was strange. I knew I was mumbling and was all over the place but people wanted to hear what I had to say. And some of them even paid me!

A few months after my return I was approached by a book publisher keen to publish the story of my trip. I'd never been much of a writer but I decided to give it a shot and a very tight four-month deadline was set. It wasn't the best fun I'd ever had but it was a good experience to read through my journal and churn out up to 2000 words a day. And after all the excitement of getting home, it rekindled my desire to get back out onto the water.

I also had a shoebox full of video tapes I had filmed on the trip. Filmmaker Paul Currie was enlisted to make a documentary of the trip and immediately set to work filming interviews with all the major players involved in the trip. My main role was to help Paul's assistant editor, Amelia, go through the tapes and log the most interesting bits. We had 60 hours to wade through, which took a couple of weeks to view before the editing even started. Sometimes I'd do it without Amelia and sometimes she'd do it without me.

One day I arrived at the studio expecting to be the only one there, only to find a young guy scrolling through my footage. He had long, dark, straight hair down his back and was looking through some of my most intimate moments. He quickly stood up and said hi.

I vaguely recognised him as the brother of one of the leaders from Reach. His name was Josh. He said Paul had invited him to help with the documentary because he had done some short films at school and was keen to get into filmmaking. We sat together for the rest of the day, not saying much, just going through the footage and commenting on it. It was a strange start to the strong friendship that would soon develop.

Josh was a year older than me and was also a Reach leader. The more I got know Josh and his friends, the more I got into Reach. I slowly learnt how this mixed group of people had been pulled together. What impressed me more than their stories was their attitude. Like me, they believed that they could do anything, so a lot of their work was aimed at showing people not much younger than themselves that their potential was limitless. These kids were inspired and the parents thought the leaders were saints. I liked these people too – a lot!

I was in a strange stage of my life. I found myself with two groups of friends – my old friends from school and the Reach friends I was getting to know.

One night was pivotal in me being accepted into my new group of friends.

It happened at my house at Sassafras, on a rare Saturday night when Mum was away. Nine of us – five guys and four girls – were having a great night, drinking and partying, when the challenge was laid out – everyone had to get nude. We'd dabbled in nudie runs a couple of times, but that was only ever a couple of guys larking about. This was a dare for each of us to bare all as friends, not as a sexual thing and without the silly carry-on of streaking.

Chocko, an extroverted Sri Lankan, was first, followed by another of the guys. They emerged from my bedroom totally starkers and casually walked to their seats in the circle. Mika, another Reach leader was the first girl and soon everyone had shed their clothes. Admittedly, the lights had been dimmed, and I think we were all slightly stunned by what was happening. But after the initial sneaked glances of curiosity, we forgot everyone was naked and the night went on. The music was cranked up and body parts not usually invited to public functions were flying about as the dancing continued.

To top off the night, we filed out the front door and ran about 300 metres down the road to a main intersection. Under a street lamp we danced around naked, revelling in our friendship and freedom and hoping for a passing car to scare.

From that night on I felt so much closer to these people.

Before we headed home to bed I took a moment to stand back and watch everyone. I loved being home, people liked me and I was having fun, heaps of fun, but deep down I yearned to be out on the sea again, living the adventure of a lifetime. I could think of little else but getting back out onto the water.

As I stood there on that cold August night, my naked friends dancing around me, I knew the time to move on had arrived. I'd done the planning, I'd dreamt the dreams, now it was time to make it all come to life. It was time for the Kijana adventure.

CHAPTER TWO
COMING TOGETHER