Damn!  It's hard work, all this writing.  But that's what happens when you procrastinate... I wish that I was earning an income for the work I do here on this computer.  Ach.  I enjoy this, right?  I enjoy this!

And so it was July 25th, 2004, and I was once again back in Broome proper.  I felt relieved that the ship was finally in.  I had, after all, come exclusively to Broome for this trip and I felt like I had just willingly submitted myself to a monastic experience so that I could experience the sailor's life.  It's a twisted sort of irony, but there you have it: Broome's a party town, no matter how you cut it, and I managed to avoid it 'unscathed,' all to ride on a dry ship with a leadership and self-development ethos.

The Leeuwin was moored at the Broome port, a giant pier that projects out into Roebuck Bay, at opposite ends to the BBO.  The height of the pier is so as to accomodate the tides--which makes mooring there a dangerous venture, as a ship will rise and drop a couple of storeys in the course of a single day.  While the Leeuwin wasn't leaving until the next day, I spent that night onboard her, for free.  I met the volunteer crew as well as the paid crew--these last being the Captain, First Mate, Watch Officer, Bosun, Cook, and the Engineer.  The volunteers are the bosun's mate, cook's mate, the guy who traditionally managed the stores but in this modern context managed the sales of Leeuwin paraphenelia, and the four watch leaders.

It was with this motley crew that I had dinner with this first evening--save the cook, cook's mate, and a few of the other crew who had escaped into Broome for a night in town, drinking and eating out--and it was the captain who cooked dinner, a pasta bolognese, which he humbly described as a poor meal made by a poor cook.  A round man with a round face and red cheeks and a booming voice and a laugh to match, he told stories and managed the table discussion.

The next day things got going at 6am, and things were pretty action packed for the morning, what with other punters coming onboard in trickles, the food delivery arrived, and the ship's mooring lines had to be constantly readjusted to accomodate for the tides, a lengthy and complicated process that involved the ship's engines and a group of hands pulling lines in, letting them out, and then over again.  The main concern is that the lines, when the tide is low, are allowed out to accomodate the distance that has been created between the ship itself and the mooring blocks at the top of the pier.  However, when the tide comes back in, the ship rises and the lines need to be brought in--if done too late, a large space occurs between the ship and the pier itself, and with winds pushing the ship around, the possibility of  the ship rubbing up or hitting the pier is very real.  So much work was needed to keep the ship safe all the while getting her ready for the trip, with new and inexperienced crew arriving every ten minutes with their luggage.