I felt like a mouse trapped in a corner with a big shoe coming down. The weather dons said it would blow for a day or two, and being exposed at Wybalenna, we high tailed it for Lady Barron, the only sea port on Flinders Island. The other time it had blown strongly, we’d had a horror night dragging anchor across a weedy bottom, and unsuccessfully trying to reset it in the middle of night, at great expense of sleep. Windy, cold, roaring like a lion, malevolent forces had pushed us about. Terrible for me at the front of our ship; in just a flimsy nightshirt, torch in hand, looking for a clear sandy patch amongst dark weed with Jude yelling above the engine noise asking where to go? How would I know, everything was black.
