Margie opens the front page of the Mercury newspaper and sees a photograph taken of the Pescador on the high seas. Dave’s boat is nowhere to be seen. Margie burns her lips on her coffee as she reads the accompanying article.
The longest sea chase in history is expected to finish today at 0900 hours (local time) with the boarding of a Uruguayan vessel accused of illegal fishing in Australian subantarctic waters.
The boarding by armed South African naval personnel will bring to a close a three-week, 4000-nautical-mile Southern Ocean pursuit of the Uruguayan-flagged Pescador by the Australian patrol vessel Australis.
The Pescador is to be charged with poaching Patagonian toothfish worth an estimated $2.8 million off Australia’s Heard Island, 2000 nautical miles southwest of mainland Australia.
According to the master of the Australis, Captain David Bates, the chase saw both vessels strike icebergs in subantarctic waters, where seas reached in excess of 15 metres, with winds gusting up to 90 knots.
‘The conditions were extreme, with temperatures on deck often reaching as low as minus 20 degrees Celsius with the wind chill,’ Bates said.
‘We are pleased to have made it through with little damage to our vessel, and no injuries to those on board our boat.’
On behalf of the Australian Government, Fisheries Minister Mr Mark Somes has publicly thanked the South African navy for its assistance in apprehending the Pescador.
‘I hope the chase will send a clear message to others involved in illegal fishing that they will be pursued and they will be caught,’ he said.
‘The Australian Government is committed to curbing the loss of our valuable marine resources and will not tolerate illegal fishing, which is a threat to our fishermen’s livelihood and the sustainability of these vulnerable deep-water stocks.’
Somes said it is likely that the senior members of the crew will be heavily fined, and the vessel will be forfeited to the Crown and destroyed.
‘Investigations will also be made following information that the ship’s owner, a Mr Migiliaro, is in Spain,’ Somes said. ‘It’s possible that he is operating a fleet of illegal boats and that the Pescador is only the tip of the iceberg.’
On seeing Dave’s name in print, and reading that he and his crew are safe, Margie reaches down and hugs Bonnie, who responds by resting her head on Margie’s lap.
‘Your grand-daddy’s coming home soon, sweetie,’ Margie says, holding the dog’s dreamy face in her hands.
She studies the newspaper photograph of the Pescador, imagining Dave on board the Australis just out of frame. The ocean and sky are gun-metal grey, imposing. According to the caption, the photograph was taken from the South African naval boat. Margie takes another sip of her coffee and imagines the dark-featured faces of the Uruguayan vessel’s crew, sombre in their capture. She pictures Julia’s husband in his wheelhouse. What has driven these men to risk their lives for fish? Are they that desperate? That poor? Perhaps they are. She feels a welling of sympathy for the bedraggled bunch and wonders what fate awaits them. She suspects, however, that if Dave’s boat had run into major trouble during the pursuit, sympathy would be the last thing she’d be feeling for this lot.
The phone rings. It’s Dave, and the line is clear.
‘Oh, love…’ Margie hears her voice wavering with emotion. ‘You know I’m convinced we’ve got ESP. I’m holding a picture of the Pescador as we speak. Front page of the paper. It seems you’re famous.’
‘I’m not sure about that. Tomorrow everyone’ll be wrapping their fish scraps in that story. Anyway, the good news is we’re just about done here,’ Dave stalls. ‘Does the article say anything about us plucking an illegal crewman out of the water?’
‘Dave! My God. He’s lucky you were there. Did he fall overboard?’
‘No. And he’s not that lucky. He’s in our freezer, dead as a doornail. Would you believe he was shot?’
‘For heaven’s sake!’ The waver is back in her voice. ‘What, by his own crew?’
‘Looks like it. Poor old codger. We’ll know a bit more about it all after the boarding.’
‘Please tell me you’re not going to be involved in that.’ Margie scans the article again. ‘Says here it’s at nine o’clock, your time, so that’s…’
‘About four in the afternoon for you. We’re about seven hours behind. And no, love. We’ll leave the boarding to the armed professionals. Harry and our young fisheries officer will go over only after things have settled down.’
‘Well, if you hadn’t taken it this far, they’d have got away,’ Margie says. ‘And you’ve kept your crew safe. That’s the main thing.’
‘You almost sound like you think chasing the buggers halfway around the world was a good thing now!’ Dave chuckles. ‘Actually, between you, me and the gatepost, I feel a bit sorry for the Uruguayan master. Carlos Sánchez his name is. The South African boat intercepted a call he made to Uruguay and overheard that his wife has had a baby—very early. It’s all a bit touch and go for the little one. Australia will be the last place he’ll want to end up.’
‘Oh no.’ Margie sighs. ‘Poor Julia. That explains why I haven’t heard back from her.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I emailed her—Julia Sánchez. It was a crazy idea of Joan’s to see if the women couldn’t get you blokes to put an end to the whole stupid chase. Secret women’s business.’ Margie hears Dave laugh again in the background. ‘I didn’t know she was pregnant, though. God I hope I didn’t add to her stress. I was going to tell you I’d contacted her, but nothing came of it.’
‘You girls. Maybe we’d all be better off if you were in charge.’
Margie can hear the relief in his voice that the chase is over. He’s lighter and chattier, like he has a head full of champagne. She feels the knot in her own stomach begin to loosen.
‘How did William get on?’
‘Surprisingly well when the chips were down. I’ll tell you about it later, love. It’s after midnight here, and tomorrow’s going to be a big one. I’d better try to catch some shut-eye. Love you. And give Bonnie a hug for me.’
‘Love you, too.’ Margie ends the call and reaches down to hug Bonnie again. A tear runs off her cheek and splashes onto the dog’s ear, glittering there like a tiny jewel. It pains her when Dave talks about giving Bonnie a hug for him. She suspects it’s his way of sending his love to Sam. A way of making a connection with his son without saying his name. It’s the second anniversary of Sam’s death on Wednesday, and she knows it will be on Dave’s mind too. It’s not right that they should endure that day, of all days, apart.
Margie kisses Bonnie on a twitching eyebrow and stands up to face the rest of the day. Bonnie gets to her feet, too, and walks over to a sunny spot near the back veranda. She lies down heavily, resting her head on an old pair of Sam’s walking boots that still sit by the cedar French doors. Margie has been planning to get rid of the shoes for some time, but Bonnie seems to have formed such an attachment to them that she can’t bring herself to do the deed. Well, it’s a convenient excuse.
The well-worn hiking boots, Margie notices, are bleached from the sun and emptied now of all their leather’s natural oils. Sam wouldn’t be happy with the state of them. He was meticulous with his camping gear, carefully washing the tent and cleaning the stove equipment at the end of every trip. He’d only ever had one pair of hiking boots, and joked that he liked the rugged, well-travelled image they gave him. She can see him now, warming the old boots in front of the fire while he watched TV. He used to bury his bare toes into the warm fur on Bonnie’s belly, and the dog loved every minute of his attention. Every so often he would check to see if the leather was warm enough for the next layer of beeswax sealer. She remembers his toes tracing the scar on Bonnie’s stomach where she was de-sexed as a puppy. ‘You poor thing,’ he’d said. ‘Never getting the chance to have puppies.’
Margie’s eyes burn from staring into the space where Sam’s boots lie. She blinks dryly and rubs her eyelids. She decides, on the spot, to pull out some of Sam’s camping gear and give it all a proper airing. She’ll use it herself for an overnight walk this week, on Wednesday. What better way to acknowledge her son’s life, and the second anniversary of his death.
Sam had always teased her that she was a homebody, leaving it to he and Dave to do the adventuring. ‘You’re missing out, Mum,’ he’d said, kissing her on the cheek as he set out on yet another bushwalk. He’d invited her on the last hike – Dave had been at sea—but she’d declined, for reasons she is still unclear about. This week though, she decides, there will be no excuse. She’ll make her son proud.