Free A Yacht Called Erewhon by Stuart Vaughan

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    Despite having a million thoughts running around in my head, I was extremely tired and nodded off quickly. Aroundeleven, I woke to find Mum and Matt still sound asleep, but Dad up and finishing off the previous night’s dishes.
    ‘About bloody time! Get this down you. We’ve got work to do!’ Dad thrust a steaming mug of coffee into my hand. He seemed a little anxious.
    ‘Morning, old fellow. What do you think of Mic?’ I asked.
    ‘She seems nice enough’ was the clipped response.
    ‘What did you think of her story?’
    ‘Haven’t had time to think it through.’
    After nineteen years in the Standish household, I knew it wasn’t time to pursue this line of questioning.
    Matt and Mum were now up, and the coffee pot was getting a hammering. After several rounds of toast, Mum reluctantly agreed to clear up, so the rest of us headed off down the track.
    I fired Aggie up, while Matt and Dad started on the ramp through the puriri trees. I extended the towing strop and placed Aggie on the other side of the tree line.
    ‘Ready?’ I inquired.
    ‘Ready!’
    I edged the cranky old machine forward. Erewhon ’s bow started to rise, and the planks groaned as the weight went on.
    ‘Keep going!’ Dad yelled, ‘Slowly, slowly. Hold it!’
    I jumped on the brake and slammed the throttle shut. Dad dived under the hull to check the structure. ‘Seems OK!’
    I took up the strain again and edged forward till the stern bogies started their ascent.
    As the planks at the rear came free, Matt and Dad whipped them forward to start building the descending ramp on the other side of the tree line. Erewhon was now completely suspended off the ground and groaning. Dad raced up and down, checking the strength of the structure, but everything seemed to be going to plan. We were very close to the pointwhere the widest part of Erewhon ’s beam would pass through the gap, and we carefully realigned her.
    ‘We thought you men might be hungry!’
    I turned to see Mum and Mic approaching with a tray of sandwiches and a jug of cold juice. Mic smiled as we stopped in our tracks, dropping what we were doing, and made a dive for their offering.
    ‘Progress looks good,’ whispered Mic.
    ‘Yeah, if we can just get her past these trees we’re home free!’
    Dad was furtively eyeing Mic again. Nothing was said, but I could see he was still unsure about her. ‘We’ll have her back on the ground by nightfall,’ he announced.
    ‘Great—she doesn’t like to be up in the air,’ said Mic.
    ‘Got to look after our lady!’ replied Dad, with a tentative grin. Mic and he had found their common ground, the thing they both loved. Dad was still unsure if Mic was who she said she was, but for now he was prepared to accept her as someone who cared about Erewhon.
    The hard work started again, and we edged the hull forward. As the beam approached the gap, we realised our calculations were out and the hull was a couple of inches wider than the gap. We rechecked the width of the hull underneath the span, and found our original measurements to be spot-on. As the weight of the hull passed through the gap, the trees had inched back closer together.
    I climbed down from Aggie as Dad surveyed the scene. ‘We need more tension on the tree stays.’
    I suggested unhitching Aggie from the tow strop to retension the guys, but Dad wasn’t keen to do that as we’d lose control over the dead weight of the hull, and it might get away from us.
    ‘When we wanted more tension on the backstay on theyacht , we used to wind pressure on with a windlass,’ came a quiet voice from behind.
    ‘That might just work!’ said Dad, looking at Mic. ‘Come on, girl. Let’s give it a try!’ He grabbed an iron bar from Aggie’s toolbox and headed for the nearest stay.
    Mic didn’t need a second prompt and was beside Dad in a flash as he strode over to the rope. He inserted the bar between the lashings as Mic positioned herself next to him. In a hand-over-hand movement,