Last week I started my mini-series on trains and boats and planes and I looked at trains, a subject that still attracts and fascinates me as much as it did when I was a child. I have had a lot to do with trains over the years but boats not to so much.
My late brother-in-law (who, sadly, would have turned 61 years of age today) used to have a favourite saying about boats. He used to say that, being in a boat is like being in gaol – only you can drown. As a person whose swimming skills have always been marginal at best, I wholeheartedly agree with his assessment. However, a certain amount of contact with boats has been inevitable so let’s look at my nautical history, unimpressive though it is.
My earliest memories of boats are of the ferries on Sydney Harbour. Growing up in the harbour city that was going to be inevitable, I guess. The organisation for which my father worked used to have an annual harbour cruise where all the workers and volunteers were invited to an afternoon of cruising the harbour on one of the big ferries followed by a stop off at Garden Island for a barbeque dinner, games music and festivities and an outdoor showing of a film, projected onto a huge screen that would be erected in the sand on the beach. Unsurprisingly, the most interesting part of the whole deal for me as a little boy, was the engine room of the ferries which were usually visible from the passenger deck. The giant steam engines were hot, and exotic smells issued from deep in the bowels of the boat. Everything was made of highly polished brass and other metals and the huge components of the engines were truly awe-inspiring. Steam issued from many orifices and it was, I guess, just like a steam train, only on water.
The “South Steyne” was the pride of the ferry fleet, a ship that had sailed all the way from England where it had been built, to Sydney, not a bad feat for a vessel that was never intended to be ocean-going. And it was on the South Steyne where my first unfortunate (and potentially fatal) incident involving boats happened. Keeping track of two mischievous boys was always a challenge for mum and dad and, on this occasion, the system broke down. I had somehow escaped from supervision and had taken off exploring by myself. I must have been about 6 years old I guess and the gate that was in the side of the ship where the passenger gangplank was situated when the ship was in dock was obviously easier to open than the operators intended. So it was that I contrived to open the gate and was about to step out into the darkness of the Sydney night when I was mercilessly collared (literally) from behind by Uncle Peter who had come searching for me. I was lifted bodily by the collar of my shirt and unceremoniously dumped onto one of the seats on the deck where he proceeded to read the “riot act” to me. My memory of the incident is amazingly clear and I can still see the black waters of Sydney Harbour rushing past the open gate. It was, as the historian remarked, a “close run thing”.
Perhaps scarred by the frightening memory of that night, I contrived to avoid further contact with boats for quite some time afterwards. It was when we were about 13 that a well-meaning friend of the family decided to take us off mum and dad’s hands for a few hours, volunteering to take us canoeing in her latest acquisition. We must have been on holidays at our grandparents’ house at Port Kembla because the venue for this escapade was the Minnamurra River just east of the road bridge. Looking back on it, it was always doomed to failure but Barbara was an intrepid outdoorsy person and so it was that we ended up in her canoe, the three of us, wobbling uncertainly out into the fast-running river (the water was flowing eastwards so I guess the tide was going out). The wobbling increased dramatically and, seconds later, the canoe capsized and dumped us into the river. Now I hasten to add that none of us were wearing lifejackets or flotation gear of any kind and that neither Paul or I were good swimmers. Barbara tried her best to help but she couldn’t assist both of us and I was left floundering in the river. I was wearing jeans, sandshoes and a heavy woollen jumper, a diabolical combination in the circumstances. Somehow, despite being an almost useless swimmer, desperation kicked in and I made my own way to shore unassisted, not long after Barbara had dragged Paul ashore. It was a terrifying experience and I still get the shudders thinking about it. Unsurprisingly, Barbara got the “What were you thinking?” lecture when she brought mum and dad’s two half-drowned children home!
As I said, I managed to avoid contact with boats by all manner of wheezes and it wasn’t until only 20 or so years ago I found myself in a situation where I simply could not avoid. In 1994 I did a trip to the Philippines, visiting with and helping out some missionary friends in the southern islands. Getting there was fine, the plane ride was great, but getting from Cebu where the plane landed, to Talibon, on the Island of Bohol, involved a 4 hour boat ride on an old ferry (like the one pictured at the top of the page). At the time I had no idea of the diabolical reputation of the inter-island ferries that ply their trade in the Visayan region of the Philippines. It didn’t take long, however, to recognise that the ferry was over-crowded and pretty dodgy. All my paranoia about boats came rushing to the forefront. Here I was, trapped on this rusty old boat with a couple of hundred apparently trusting people who had no idea that the ferry was going to break into hundreds of pieces and plunge us all to a ghastly death at any moment. No journey has ever taken longer than that trip and my paranoia wasn’t helped at all by the realisation that, in three weeks’ time, I would have to RETURN from Bohol to Cebu on the same antique death trap.
Of course the ship didn’t sink but that had more to do with divine intervention than any worth of it as a vessel. I was never so glad to set foot on the dry land at Talibon Harbour.
Incidentally, the Visayan region of the Philippines IS wonderful, relatively unspoiled compared to the northern islands and well worth a visit.
Now, almost as soon as I arrived, it became apparent that my boat phobia was going to get a huge workout. My missionary friends were working with people who inhabited not only the island of Bohol but dozens of smaller islands to the north of Talibon, the main town on Bohol. And to get there to visit these lovely people required travelling by, you guessed it, boats. Oh, dear. At least I could take some comfort in knowing that the sea on which we would be travelling was relatively sheltered rather than being open ocean, but, when I saw the vessel on which we were to travel…
90% of all inter-island travel is done on these outrigger canoes, called “Camaguins”. They come in a wide variety of sizes from only accommodating two people to massive ones that can carry twenty or thirty people as well as masses of cargo (a missionary friend of mine even carried his Honda 175 bike on one ferry, insisting that there was nothing unusual about this.) Motorcycles are the preferred means of transport in the Philippines, tiny bikes being pressed into service to carry whole families, cargo and often live pigs!
To my surprise and amazement, I found that I LOVED travelling by outrigger. The boats are roomy, comfortable and, most of all, stable. For the most part the ocean was flat and calm and travelling was a delight. The cool breeze generated by the movement helped to ease the fierce ambient temperature and there was a constantly changing vista that made these journeys the absolute highlight of my visit. Once, in the middle of nowhere, with no land in sight, our missionary friend stopped the boat and said, “Do you want to have a swim”? “Hardly,” I thought, “The water must be hundreds of metres deep.” Undeterred, my host jumped in and started splashing around. I was horrified but had no intention of following him. Then he stopped swimming and started walking back towards the boat, urging me to hop in and cool off! WHAT??? I looked over the side and saw, to my amazement, that he had stopped and dropped anchor right on top of a sand bar that stretched as far as the eye could see. The water wasn’t even a metre deep and the sand bar was covered with massive orange starfish that were nearly 30cm across.
I very rapidly grew to love the canoes and took every opportunity that I could to travel in them. The larger ones had canopies to keep the sun off the passengers and the little, inboard diesel engines weren’t very powerful but, just like motorcycling, I found that the journey was probably more important than getting there. The Philippinos are a very relaxed people and it was while I was there that I added several words to my vocabulary, the best of which was the Visayan word, “oogma”. According to the locals, it has the same meaning as “manana” (tomorrow) but is used with less sense of urgency!
Since returning from my two Philippino escapades, my contact with boats has been minimal. Apart from a disastrous off-shore fishing charter off Merimbula about ten years ago (everybody on board except the crew were violently ill for the whole two hours) I have managed to maintain terra firma (as my dad used to say, “The more firma, the less terra.” About ten years ago, I bought a “tinny” from and old friend with the intention of doing some fishing from it. I christened it “The Tintanic” but it never once left my driveway until it was towed away by its new owner, thus proving the truth of the old saying that the two happiest moments in a boat owner’s life are the day that he BUYS his boat and the day that he SELLS his boat!
However, if offered another jaunt around the island seas of the Visayas in a camaguin, I’d take it without a second’s hesitation.
jeffb says
Unlike you,Phil, I love boats and did many sailing escapades in Middle Harbour growing up. The Manly Ferries played a big part in my life- the bigger the swell the more chance I would be on a ferry to Sydney straight after school.Loved the South Steyne for it’s big engine you could look down on and smell all those smells! I remember one trip across the heads where all passengers were only allowed on upper deck as the swell was sending waves through the lower deck! (unfortunately,that service was cancelled at Circular Quay and to get home to Manly meant 2 trains and a bus!! Still wonderful memories. Jeff
Phil Hall says
Yep, I loved watching the engine room in the Soth Steyne!