Free Of Foreign Build by Jackie Parry

huge bay some thirty miles away from the mouth of the river that housed Kumai, our destination. We anchored for the night in order to leave early the next day for the trip up the river. There was no wind and as the sun was quenched, we both turned in.
    Sleeping in calm waters sometimes felt like we were sleeping on land. The salty air and fresh breezes were a good bet for a deep sleep. Well rested, just before the sun broke over the horizon, we hauled anchor. The bay was as smooth as glass, not a breath of wind ruffled the surface. The tangy smell of the salt laden breeze was diluted by the fresh river water and moist foliage. Relying on our faithful Yanmar engine, by lunchtime we arrived at the mouth of the Kumai River. Usually we would have charts or Pilot books, but due to our unplanned diversion, we were ill equipped (or so we thought). Using our VHF radio (short range), we tried to call up another boat already anchored near the town of Kumai. Cindy and Faith, two American cruisers on board Carmen Miranda answered our call and relayed all the information we needed to wind our way up the river to the anchorage. Moving through the water dragging a one-and-a-half metre keel below us and running aground is severely dull and can be dangerous to crew and boat alike, so knowledge is imperative. The Kumai River was like puttering through beef soup.
    ‘Does anything live in here?’ I wondered aloud. The rainforest on our starboard was a stunning lush green; on our port was sand, palm trees, and grass huts. ‘Blimey we’re sailing into Borneo!’
    Noel laughed at my British accent coming to the fore through my wonder.
    Navigating up a river is quite different to traversing an ocean. To start, there are more things to hit. The traffic was thick with many small boats towing what seemed like mile-long lengths of naked trees that were barely visible above the water. There were leads (two markers at different heights; once aligned you are on the right course) to help. We both had to be alert to check our position and depth; we worked like a well-lubricated team and safely worked our way up the snaking, dirty river. Reaching the other boats that were already comfortably anchored, we slowed down to search for a space. Theoretically, on anchor, all boats should swing the same way, but you still have to leave enough room for different shaped boats that might react slightly different in a breeze or tidal stream. We agreed on a spot, and Noel deftly turned Mariah as I stepped up to the bow to organise the anchor ready for deploying.
    As we did this, a catamaran came racing up from behind, turned in front of Mariah’s bow, and dropped his anchor in the spot we had chosen. Now, there is a certain anchoring-etiquette. Clearly, common courtesy dictates that we were there first, however, the space wasn’t that great, so we just shrugged our shoulders and puttered on down to the next available space. Later, as we relaxed, swinging on anchor amongst twelve or so other boats, we revelled in our self-satisfaction of anchoring properly and enjoyed watching the catamaran having to re-anchor – he was too close to other boats.
    I had become the expert anchor person. Handling the heavy loads and forces of the equipment is a skill. Arranging the equipment for a smooth anchor became my forte.
    As our minds relaxed, we tried to absorb the fascinating scenery and sounds of small thatched huts, jungle and concealed screeching from within. As we unwound, we remembered that we did in fact have Pilot details for the river stored on a floppy disk! We chinked our glasses and with big grins said, ‘Cheers.’
    This was typical of us. It wasn’t that we were a bit forgetful, though we were, but we found humour in our foibles. Noel had shown me how to enjoy laughing at myself. Not having to perform expertly all the time, or wonder if I was viewed as stupid when I did something a bit daft was a blessed relief. It felt like a lead weight had been lifted. I felt