Dave when he sailed home, and Dave today.

Dave Thurston as a young man went to Perth and built himself a yacht. He built it in the remarkable time of three years. After launching, he went around Australia, putting to use his boat building skills. He picked up jobs in boat yards on the way. Then off he went to sail around the world, on a trip that took him seven years. It was many adventures later before he came back to Australia. Once back, he continued to be employed boat repairing, and developing his skills into furniture manufacture on commission.

Dave has a deep interest in environmental issues and the consequences of all the waste of modern society. He went to demolition and scrap yards to find the materials for his unique furniture. All his work is made from recycled timber and steel, and incorporates his skills of inlay and laminating which gives his work a sensuous, nautical feel. Each of Dave's pieces of furniture are unique and individual masterpieces that will last several life times.

Red Sea Salvage 1982

Red Sea Salvage

Sue, my first mate, lay in my arms. A shrouded light crept in through the port lights, a warm sunny morning sparkled through the companionway, my primary thought was of yesterday. We had been to a specialist and Sue was confirmed pregnant. This dawn I lay awake, enthusiasm stirred inside me - I was to be a father.
I thought of getting out of my bunk to make a new day cup of tea, toast and vegemite, (it’s tough to give away Australian habits), when we heard a knock on the side of Flodash's hull and a female voice called my name - "Dave".

As I climbed into the cockpit, adjusting my eyes to the morning sun, the anxious voice said "I am a shipwrecked mariner". Still lost in thought I said "Come on board, would you like a cup of tea?" Grateful, she said yes, adding that her name was Liz, and her husband George was still on their boat (she hoped). "Is he all right?" I asked. She didn't know. He had rowed back to their boat in his dingy. The boat was about ten miles out to sea, on a reef. She was extremely upset and apologised for babbling. "Other yachtsman told me that you are the man that can help us." I said "Thank you, but please tell me what occurred, and where is this reef you were wrecked on? Please start from the beginning, do you take milk and sugar?"

This is her story...
About a month ago we thought we were approaching Port Sudan. It was late in the evening, with a twenty knot wind on the beam and heading west with the last of the sun setting in our eyes. It was beautiful to think we would be in port that night. But then we were picked up by a wave that sent us hurtling across a reef. Our yacht, Quo Vadis, landed on her chin sideways. She’s built of steel, thank God.

"Liz, this was a month ago. Why has it taken a month to get help?"
After we ran on the reef, we bounced up and down keeping a look out day and night. It was hell, I tell you. Then the other day, a Sudanese fishing boat came by and gave us a lift ashore to Mus a Fijab. George brought some supplies and headed off, rowing back to Quo Vadis. I hitchhiked a ride to Port Sudan last night to get help, and here I am. I hope George made it back onboard, and wasn't washed out to sea.
Tears now welled up in her eyes.

I thought at the time it was silly to row back to the boat after not seeing anyone for a month, and only because he didn't trust the people that saved them. He had risked his life, for what? This thought bugged me. Port Sudan, February 82, radio was little or never used, satelite navigation was just coming about. I guess we were the last wave of old salts that shot the sun and stars in the cruising world.
I now had a pregnant girl and a shipwrecked lady that had a lost husband. Just the thought that he could fracture an ore (it's such an easy thing to do) with little food or water supplies, in a six foot dingy! - not good.

It was nearing twelve. I knew that a bus was leaving for a port down south. I had also made good friends with Lolo, the Captain of a large charter boat that had left to go south the previous day. He had told me where they would anchor up at night so that if we were up to it, we could sail down and join them. But looking at the chart I thought that I could catch the bus and get dropped off in a position were I knew they would be at anchor. There was no road access to the bay, and looking at my charts, was about five miles as the crow fly’s from the road. Without thinking too much about it, I asked Sue to look after Liz. I was going to get Lolo and the charter boat, she could be big enough to tow Quo Vadis off the reef. I would go down and talk to him personally, as a friend. I was conscious of the fact that they were out on charter making money. I will have to say to Lolo that we required his help. That we have a wrecked yacht on a reef and a man that may of be lost at sea. I told Liz that we could be there by tomorrow afternoon, thinking that Lolo would go for the adventure, and hopefully it would be good for the guests too, for the diving up north would be just as good, if not better.

Packing a rucksack with torch, water and fruit cake, I told Liz we would pick her up tomorrow morning, fuel up and head out. Kissing Sue goodbye, and tickling her stomach, I left. Ashore I felt in a twirl - what am I doing running off to catch a bus to nowhere? What if I can't find them, what if they are some where else?

It was total insanity as I boarded this open-air truck with few seats, and individuals hanging off like grapes. With the chart in my mind, and working on dead reckoning, two hours into the trip I felt in my mind that we were in the right position. I stopped the truck in the middle of nowhere, encircled in a barren region of brown and red. I couldn’t see the sea and sand hills that lay in my path. I had left so quickly that I hadn't brought a compass, but I am a navigator at heart, and have natural talent in this field. I had proven it to myself numerous times. I left the bus with the sound of laughter and good will, and I watched the dust cloud as it drove away. Getting a position with the sun and the course of the road into my mind, I forged a course to the shore.
It felt like fifty degrees as I walked, keeping an imaginary line in my mind through sand covered growth and sand hills. No life, washed out, as if it was once a part of the sea, and was waiting for it’s return. After two hours walking, I sighted the sea. I quickened my pace, for the sun was getting low and I still had to find them. Coming over a sand hill I got a good look at the coast line, and there in the corner of the bay was the charter boat. It was as if my imagination had come true.

This last part was the worst, for the shoreline was swampy with low lying, short, thick mangroves, and I was hard pressed to get through. As I made the shore, the light was failing. I stood on an out crop of rocks and with a deep voice I yelled out. They heard me, and seeing a boat leave to come ashore, I ran to meet them. Lolo couldn’t believe I had come out of the desert. After I told them the story, there were no questions, the anchor came up and we were heading for Port Sudan.

I was making it up as we went along. I decided that we needed jacks, warps and timber to slide the yacht off the reef. All this I mused in my mind, how to save the person and the yacht. Every yachty was waiting for a break in the weather - as was I. But help was here and we’ll try our best.

In Port Sudan the word was out like wildfire, like the sand in the wind peeling paint of your mast. By the time we docked, a group of youths were ready to hear what I thought was a good plan, to scout around town, tell everyone the story and ask for help.
Liz joined the captain aboard the charter boat, and after refuelling left for Mus a Fijib.
As for me, I joined the boys to find the materials and borrow what we could. We then had to find a truck to take us to Mus a Fijab tomorrow morning to rendezvous with the charter boat.

As a team, we walked through the town on a mission. On the way we found an huge, old work shop along a dirt road. I spotted a jack, lying in the dust like it had been there for the last decade. Even the handle lay beside it, only visible in the dust because someone had pored oil over it sometime ago.
The jack I had in mind was a old railway "lumber jack", working one slot at a time. As a kid I had worked unloading bran, hay and railway trucks of coal - it was always a race. This was where I learnt about lumber jacks and luckily I found two more near by.
A big man listened through sign language to our plight and we moved the jacks to the front of the shed for the truck to pick up early next morning. After dusting them off and pouring sump oil over them to get them going, I realised that this was a mistake. Like tar and dust it just melted in, and stuck to the steel. But they would work.

Port Sudan, to my eyes, was set back in the early eighteen hundreds. Just out of town a million refugees walked like stick figures. The lucky ones lived in makeshift huts that where made from cut and flattened out five gallon fuel tins, that where collected off the beach. A cart pulled by a donkey sold water, and camels were the main transport at the taxi rank. The refugees had walked from Ethiopia, two thousands miles to the south. The story goes that the trail is noticeable with fallen brothers and mothers that never made it.
People squatted beside the road and crapped, catching fly’s before they landed. Nearby stalls of tomatoes were so covered with black flies, that you could only see specks of red left.

The irony was, we were out there borrowing tools and materials to save a mad yachty who, in the eyes of most was a millionaire, with health and his own yacht. At the harbour dockyards we found the rest of what we needed, warps, long lengths of timber, pulling jacks and forty-four gallon drums for floatation. By the time night had fallen we had found a truck at a trucking station that, for hundred bucks, would start at day break, pick up our gear, and transport us to Mus a Fijab.

The salvage was under way, and a radio message came though that George was alive and on board the charter boat. Another yacht was leaving the next morning with crew to stand by and help in the salvage. Waking early, the five of us joined up. United and loaded with food, sledge hammers, saws, chains etc, we made our way to find the truck. To our surprise he was waiting for us. He didn't speak English, but in our own way we communicated as if brothers in this world. For I am at heart a common man in my own land, and this is what they saw in us, we were one with them.

Loading the truck by early morning, we left town bound for Mus a Fijab in high sprits. The wind was up and a dust storm moved down from the barren mountain tops, blinding us in sand. I wondered how the driver could see where to go. A man came into view riding a camel, obviously on his own mission, as he took no notice of us. It took most of the day to drive eighty miles north and subsequently finding the place, with a small group of huts, but no charter boat to be seen. We headed north along the beach, with the afternoon sun behind us. At last I could make out the charter boat on the horizon.

What to do? No radio, and the discomfort of sleeping out. I got the idea to build a fire on the high side of the beach. With the fire going, I syphoned a gallon of petrol into a forty four and set it up right on the fire. When it went off, the noise was so great that the drum went a hundred feet in the air. With a mirror I flashed a signal to the Charter Boat. To our surprise we got a flash back. Putting out the fire, we headed to the port where they could pick us up. It was all working well. That night we loaded the gear and partied into the night with Liz, George and the crew.

The next day was the first time I got to see the job at hand. With the other yacht now joining us, we all worked together for two days. We jacked up the boat, placing timber under it and moved the weight around so that the yacht was more balanced.
We fixed the holes in the side with a remedy that all yachty’s should know for emergencies. It was told to me, and now I was trying it out (and telling you). Sheep’s fat and cement! Put the fat on the stove and melt it down. Take it off the stove and add cement till it becomes thick. Dive in and spread it over the hole, in five minutes the hole is fixed.
I found with the weight of five men in the rigging, we could balance out the weight in the keel. For this is the problem, a boat without a keel can slide off any reef. I came to the conclusion that the charter boat would never pull her off, and it didn't make sense trying. We had it set up but we needed a tug boat, or the Navy to help us. It was a long shot, but I was going to try.

With the standby boat left to look after George and Liz, the crew of the charter boat and myself headed back to Port Sudan to do the impossible - talk the Navy into sending a frigate out to help us.
Back in Port Sudan I caught up with Sue. She was getting lost in this adventure, but the big adventure was happening within her, with our baby on the way. The boys wrote a song in our honour, The Port Sudan Blues, and much fun was had by everyone.
I found out from the Harbour Master the name of the headman in the Navy that I would need to see. He said he’d make an appointment for the next day. After getting off the phone he had a big smile, "You’ll be right, I fix it for you" he said. Could we get the Navy Frigate? The answer was "Yes". The next morning I had to go and report, taking the other five men. But, we had one woman, Liz. The Harbour Master said he was sure it will be all right, and with a wink he said "he’s one of my best friends, remember that." I said a big thank you as I was shown the way out.

Back at the harbour it was hard to wipe the smile off my face. When I told Liz, she flung her arms around me, almost knocking me over. We where all excited, for the next day we would be heading north in a Navy Frigate to Mus a Fijab and to pull Quo Vadis off the reef.

It was all working. "But why?" is the question I ask myself now. Twenty-six years later why do I write this story? Perhaps because I began to look inward, to a point. It seemed I was was too big to other people, they didn’t believe me, or they misunderstood me, leaving me in a quagmire as to who I was.
Such is life. You are your surroundings, you are one with God. If the universe is true, then we are a part of everything. So don’t hold back, express your true self, for He and the universe is feeling through you.

When we five, plus one turned up at the Navy gates the next morning, the feeling of a secret commando party stood high in the ranks. We were saluted as we passed through the checking point. We were special troop sailors from many nations, gathered for a job to savage a fellow Yachtsman. My head was high as we marched on board, being shown to the main saloon.

She was slim and long. We sat not more the six feet above the water line with a view of the fordeck that tapered upwards to her bow. The motors where already running - two twelve hundred horse powered Royal Rocs, for we needed to be at Mus a Fijab two hours before high tide, which was at midday. How convenient was the plan, nature was with us.
I had learnt to speak some Arabic - "Good morning - How are you?" and from there, we felt our way. After getting under way, I asked one of the crew who seemed to know the mission we where on if there had a towrope. He replied that we only have the rope we tie the boat up with in harbour, I said you must have a anchor rope or towrope, he said No. I was worried now, for how can you pull a yacht off a reef if you don’t have a towrope, and a big rope at that. He just shook his head, holding my eyes with his smile. We were guests on board to do a job, but I thought the Harbour Master would of told the Captain what we were doing. We weren't just going for the ride to see how the boat was. I sat down to think what we could do with what we had. We were cruising along at about twenty-five knots and now well on the way, when I noticed a deck hand pulling this rope out along the deck and I realised that they were pulling my leg, and we all broke out laughing.

After this bit of fun with the crew we came insight of the reef and we could only see George's boat - the stand by boat had left. Pulling along side the reef the crew launched their tender because the frigate couldn't slow down below five knots in order to keep steerage. The tender tipped over and lost her outboard in the ships wake, not a good start. George was on his boat and as he rowed over to the frigate he broke his ore. We threw him a rope and loaded our gear in and told him to stay on the Frigate. Five of us dived in and swam to the reef towing the dinghy.

One of the good things about Quo Vadis was she lay pointing out to sea, the way she must have sailed in. This I found hard to get my head around for she must of done a 180 when she hit the reef. Or he was sailing the wrong way! Now on the reef, we pooled our weight and wound the pulling chain around the keel as the Frigate let out a small line. We swam out and pulled the line untill we had the towrope, which we then shackled onto the Quo Vadis bow. With this all done, we climbed out on the mast hanging under like cloth on a washing line, balancing the weight in her keel. I waved to the Frigate to pull. As the line took up, a cloud of smoke came from her stack and the rope shrank to half it’s size. You could hear the roar of the engines pulling, and as if a catapult we where launched into the air and thrown overboard, for she went a hundred feet in one rush, and jumped up breaking the towrope. She jumped up and down like a bucking bronco, but still partly on the reef. I quickly swam to her and boarded, for I had an anchor out just incase this happened. Now she was in the waves, and I didn’t want her coming back right onto the reef. Swimming out once again to retrieve the towrope, we had to heave the heavy end in and it took two of us using all our strength. The next pull dragged her completely off the reef with the sound of joy and hoots from the stack. We were all filled with satisfaction to see her afloat and I was glad that no one had got caught in the rigging. The way she took off, we could have been seriously injured or even killed.

George was back on his boat with his engine going. We cleaned up the reef and dived to retrieve the outboard. The Frigate had to return to base and we all boarded and waved goodbye to George and Liz. They were going to Mus a Fijab to straighten out their boat prior to heading for Port Sudan. With a big smiles we headed back home to celebrate our lives.

Back in Port, a party was organized for all the folks that had helped in the salvage of Quo Vadis off the reef. Some one hundred individuals in all were involved in the exercise. Too numerous to mention, but they all deserve to be acknowledged. This is why I write the account the way I saw it. For this happened twenty six years ago and in those days I couldn’t read or put pen to paper.

A one hundred pound king fish was shot the morning of the festivities. Quo Vars arrived in full colour flags flying, and everyone welcomed them as heroes. The party was prepared on a hundred foot windjammer that had arrived in port for the season chartering.
The party was extensive, as only yachty’s appear to know how. The smell of barbequed fish cuisine on the foredeck, everyone clad in party clothes and a parrot device swung from the rigging. Harmony and dancing, drinking and speeches. But the core of the adventure seemed to be lost in the egos of some involved. I slipped into the darkness to have a drink by myself, when a Navy crew member came and said I was required in the after cabin.

At the aft cabin door, a bellow came out to come in. To my amazement, ten uniformed Navy men were sitting around a big table, and in turn stood up and shook my hand. Then the biggest surprise of the night, they handed me the biggest rolled joint I had ever seen. Foremost, I thought it was a set-up, and the look on my face told the world. They burst out laughing and a light was struck. I took a toke and handed it around. The Captain, who could converse in English said, "You are a Captain of Captains, and the method you used to handle the salvage was an inspiration to us and our crew. We wish you many more adventures. We like people like you on our shores." Brandys poured into glasses and held high, they drank to my success. They added, "Without you, that boat would still be on the reef." I gave them an immense thankyou on behalf of every one in the team and thanked them once more for there readily available help and support. I was encircled by genuine men, showing genuine gratitude. (well done)