Kijana by Jesse Martin

the damaged ropes that secured it to the boat.
    We reluctantly turned on the engine and headed towards the coast for Shoal Bay on Port Stephens, the closest major centre settlement, which lay 15 miles to the north-west. I was aware we’d officially left the country, according to Customs, but maritime law states that vessels in distress must be able to land irrespective of their custom and quarantine status.
    It was our first minor emergency and it was annoying having to head back to land. But what concerned me more was the obvious difference between the guys and the girls during the crisis. We had needed to act fast and with gusto to rescue the dinghy, and whether it was strength or commitment, the girls had taken a back-seat approach throughout the whole ordeal.
    We were determined to make our stop in Port Stephens as brief as possible, which we managed with just an overnight stay while the hook was bent back into shape and the dinghy lifted out of the water and secured tightly to the davits, the steel arms used to hoist the dinghy on and off the boat.
    We were not only sick of the delay in getting clear of mainland Australia, we wanted to avoid the melancholy feeling of yet another farewell. We slipped out of the harbour quietly without alerting the authorities, and headed directly into a north-easterly wind.
    Once more Mika and Nicolette were sick, although not to the point of vomiting. It was an uncomfortable part of the trip for everyone, with an overcast sky and constant showers.
    During the second night out of Port Stephens the wind eventually swung around and came from the south-east. This tamed the waves we were bashing into and gave us some good sailing. Travelling at a good speed, safely away from shore, allowed me to finally get a decent sleep. But on what should have been my first uninterrupted night I was jolted awake by the sound of Josh yelling.
    Without thinking, I leapt out of bed and dashed up the stairs in survival mode. I was slightly annoyed when I realised Josh, who was on watch, had yelled out my name so I could see some dolphins. For crying out loud, I thought, I nearly knocked myself out on the hatch slide to look at some bloody dolphins. All I could see was complete darkness, with the lights of a few fishing boats dotting the horizon. What the hell was he on about?
    â€˜You know that sparkly stuff, what’s it called?’ Josh asked.
    â€˜Phosphorescence,’ I replied, spying the familiar glow spreading across the bow wave, like angel wings.
    â€˜Yeah, well there’s dolphins or something covered in it.’
    I’d seen dolphins and phosphorescence while aboard Lionheart . When they broke the water’s surface to breathe, the microscopic animals on the surface would whip themselves into a frenzy to form a fluorescent greeny-white glow, much like a firefly.
    â€˜Where’d they go?’ I asked, still only mildly interested.
    â€˜Dunno. They were just here.’ A few seconds later he pointed into the darkness. ‘Yeah, just there.’
    I immediately saw what he was so excited about. Gliding beside us below the water’s surface was the outline of a dolphin in almost perfect detail. The bright glow surrounding its entire body made it appear as if we were being shadowed by a digital dolphin. Each flick of the tail sent fluorescent lines darting over its body, before they trailed off into a cloud of glowing water. It was so clear we could see the point at which its nose pushed against the water.
    I was blown away and immediately forgave Josh his excitement.
    â€˜Wow,’ I said, ‘they don’t usually look like this.’
    Josh darted below deck and grabbed the camera. By the time I reached the bow he had returned and was behind me. There were four dolphins, perfectly illuminated as they played with each other against a perfect black background. I suspected the camera wouldn’t pick up the phosphorescence, which Josh confirmed, much to our