[Paddlewise] Hook's nemesis - was Unconventional or minimalist navigation techniques?

Joe wrote: -
>Yes, this will work BUT!!! If you have the foresight
>to be carrying an almanac with the required information,
>then why the hell aren't you carrying a compass?

G'Day,

Ok you've caught me out and so I was trolling and thought you would never
ask:~) Its a good question and the answer lies with an acquaintance I first
met some years ago in Skiffies.

Skiffies is a Sydney waterfront bar frequented by sailors, kayakers and
other disreputable folk. We used to meet there of a Thursday night after an
evening paddle. Sometimes travellers like Natalie Wiest would join and
enliven the evening with stories of exotic and foreign lands.

One windy winter's evening about two years ago I was at Skiffies drowning my
regrets on being alone with a glass or two of warm beer when a tall, lean
and grizzled fellow joined me. He turned out to be an ex-kayaker and further
had paddled a Pittarak, so clearly was a man of discernment and culture
despite his shaggy grey hair and unshaved, unkempt appearance. A man also of
ripe vocabulary and even riper vaguely sulfurous smell, with the additional
oddity that he would not take his gloves off. We got to talking about close
calls in our boats and I found from my limited stock a story or two on being
run down in the harbour and crossing between islands in Bass Strait in the
fog. They made very little impact. Then he struck up with his own - it's
worth repeating, there are several valuable lessons.

Mate, he said you think thats a close call let me tell you about the most
ill considered decision I've ever made - gave up the sea because of it. It
was on Hook Island in the Whitsundays where I was camping for no other
reason than it bore my name (Jim Hook was how he introduced himself showing
me some sort of naval commission, something to do with a Letter of Marque,
which I have to say was the most dog eared and yellowed certificate I've
ever seen).

Anyway mate, he continued, twas evening and the Pittarak was drifting down
Nara inlet while I studied sea eagles perched on the hoop pine and wondered
what kind of possum would make the mud slides that occurred every so often
between the mangroves. A quiet spot and very isolated. And then of a sudden
I hear this faint click behind me. Nothing happens for a while and then
there it goes again - click click; quite regular now and a bit louder. And
of a sudden theres a swirl of water and what I thought was a log starts
swimming gracefully around the boat, clicking all the time. Its a saltwater
croc mate. But its OK looks fairly docile, quite unaggressive in fact. And
theres my first mistake!

Years ago a professor told me that even the politest of sharks or saltwater
crocs circling your boat is no more innocent than a young lad curiously
doing the rounds of a christmas buffet, just waiting to devour the pudding.
Like a flippant fool I ignored this sage advice and continued to study the
swimming log.

It circled me twice and just as I was beginning to feel an affection for the
critter, me being lonely an all, up it leaps and barges full tilt into the
boat. Mate I was shocked that old #$!#%#$ Inverbon was right after all. I'm
back paddling me fastest and this horrible beast is smiling its toothy grin
waiting for the next rush. Which comes too quickly. Its got its cavernous
jaws opening and I'm peering in despair at hell waiting at the end of the
crimson, mucous lined, tooth filled tunnel opening before me.

Mind racing ...time to fire a flare into its gaping maw? - NO the blamed
flares are in the back of my PFD.
But theres bungee stretched across the deck and I whip my feet up to hold
the cord off the boat, pull the center of the cord back and there it is! A
catapult ready for action but nothing nearby for a missile, except either a
small handcompass or an almanac which I always carry under the bungee.
Figured the compass was the go as I had another on the deck anyway. So set
this expensive missile in the bungee, let go and THWACK it fires and hits
that ole croc squarely in the epiglottis.

The Jaws clamp shut and down its head crashes straight onto my deck compass.
It crosses its eyes, retches, sets its jaws to the sky retches again and
coughing violently shoots out a silvery looking object into the blue yonder.
Then shaking pieces of compass housing from its blood stained throat, gives
a despondent look at the lost meal and silently slips away.

Silence..... then a whistling, think for a moment it's a canon ball but look
up and theres that silver instrument heading straight at me. One hand grasps
the paddle and braces like fury the other stretches across, leans and HOWZAT
caught it - Years playing cricket for Yorkshire finally pay off.

Turns out the critter had once swallowed and now thrown up, a Lange & Sohne
marine chronometer! And just as well because I'd lost both my compasses and
the almanack had slid off the deck into the briny so the devils own luck
gives me a clock to measure the time of sunrise, sunset, set up a compass
and find my way home.

But still on a dark winters night while paddling those murky waters a cold
chill creeps down my spine at the thought that I will no longer hear a
warning "tic toc tic" while the croc creeps up behind me.

The old guy winks at me, picks up my beer in his claw, drains it with a gulp
and is gone.

All the best, PeterO
With apologies to: JM Barrie, Professor Inverbon, Natalie and all of
Paddlewise for detaining you so long:~)
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