Always the flats were full of locals fishing with tinnies and poking around for oysters or clams, gathering supper in a simple and unassuming commune with nature, seemingly unhurried and unencumbered by all the expensive flashy gear and equipment that Americans seem to feel necessary accoutrements to any outing. We made friends with whole families who floated chattily down river in tubes of an evening sunset, regardless of the crocs “Oh none here, they’re all over on the Bribie Island side!” In the place where I’d grown up, where the Puritan Work Ethic still ruled bone deep, people would signal that they accepted an outsider by saying something like  “A decent, hardworking, honest person”. In Queensland, you knew you were deemed ok when somebody would say “Fair dinkum story teller” or “Makes a smoko go quick”  or “I got time for them”. 

Each example gives a peculiar insight into the problem, indicating how the waste got there in the first place, what can be done about it and who is and should be taking on the responsibility for cleaning it up.

PS we don't have sail numbers as per the regatta sailing instructions because skiffs using characteristic unique symbols out date sail numbers. 

At the start line for Saturday's first race there were twenty Gaff or similarly rigged yachts. They ranged from a fifty plus year old 10ft timber gaff rigged skiff replica MERLE, with a crew of three and a healthy spread of sail, to a recently impeccably refurbished Couta Boat CRYSTAL.  

The wind strength increased all night until in the vicinity of Bustard Head lighthouse it topped 100 knots. Our last remaining canvas, the Spitfire jib was hoisted, and KINTAMA lay ahull. The crew exhausted, replaced the storm boards, piled into the soaked bunks and fell asleep