SHERGOLD’S GREAT ADVENTURE (working title only)

 
It was a stake out. Shergold looked around, cautiously; he could smell them; his incredibly sensitive antennae picked them up. He would have to proceed carefully: a wrong move could have horrible consequences. His sharp eyes scanned the area, noting the shadows and odd variations in light. They could be anywhere. The hairs on his back stood up. He would not be a victim. He stopped; a muffled sound disturbed him. Was it the wind, blowing some debris his way? Was it his imagination, creating a threat which did not exist?
 
Shergold carried on, one foot stretching out magnificently in front of the other. He was beautiful and he knew it. His destination was in sight.  The Kingfisher bobbed gently on the water. Its sail could be seen, illuminated by the silver light of the moon. This was his home. He loved to bask in the sun as the boat careered across the rocky waves of the Channel. He was an experienced sailor, and rough seas were as exhilarating to him as a good chase. Nothing could stop him from enjoying this life he had found. Back in the city, living meagrely in run-down warehouses seemed part of a very distant past – a past he did not want to remember. No, this was the life: he had everything he wanted.
 
A hissing sound brought him sharply back to reality. It was a familiar noise: he had been right. They were there, watching him. He had no choice: he would have to fight: this was war!
 
The Wild One appeared, and blocked his path. Their eyes met, glaring menacingly at each other. They had been in this situation before. Shergold had won. The Wild One was determined to avenge his loss of pride. He would not lose again. Their bodies were tense, ready for action; every muscle and sinew tightened. Their hearts beat violently, noisily - almost disturbing the silence of the night.  
 
It started: the Wild One lunged at him, knocking Shergold to the ground. He rolled over, but in a single swift movement, like an acrobat in dance sequence, regained his composure and jumped high in the air, landing atop the unprepared enemy. Shergold was in a masterly position: the opponent could not recover; he had to surrender – this was an unwritten rule of play. No need for bloodshed: Shergold held the Wild One in such a way that he could not fight back. He had won – easily. Both accepted the fact. Muscles relaxed. Shergold watched him shrink away. He had defended his territory. His home had not been violated. He was a king, if others only but knew it. Why did they bother to challenge him? He always won. He was never going to give up this great life style he had fought so hard to achieve. Now, it was time for a long, well-deserved rest.
 
Shergold stealthily crept under the tarpaulin, found a dark corner and dreamt of fish – bucket loads. He was home, at last.
 
 
 
 
Chapter 2
 
The Kingfisher was a splendid vessel, designed and built by craftsmen.  Shergold knew that he was lucky to be part of a winning team. He looked forward to the next adventure, but had no idea when it would start. He felt tension mounting, as if something was about to happen. There had been a lot of movement in the last few days – people on board checking things; boxes being carefully places into nooks and crannies and Helen, the chief, studying maps and working the controls at the helm.
 
Last time, after such a flurry of activity, they had nearly ended up travelling all round the world, in the Jules Verne record attempt. And that was a trip to remember (especially when the broken mast narrowly missed his head as it fell)! Shergold had felt exhilarated by all the people who had come to meet this courageous woman on their return. He also recalled the fear it had generated, as he darted in between masses of humans’ legs – he had felt trapped and threatened, especially when someone tried to grab him. Thank goodness, he was quick! He had made his escape, diving under a table that had been set up with bottles and glasses.
 
Shergold had managed to remain incognito for a very long time. But was he now doing so on borrowed time – could he still continue to hide? Would he be found out? He felt invincible. His natural camouflage would protect him. He was not destined to be caught – his had never lost any of his nine lives. Helen needed him – even if she did not know it. He just wondered where tomorrow would take him: his sea legs would not fail him; he need only imagine the hot sun beating down, relieving its heat with the gentle cooling spray from salty waters. Helen would be at the wheel, driving the boat on, crashing and diving through sparkling waves. Together, they could brave anything.
 
 
 
Chapter 3
 
 
 
I should tell you something about Shergold, in case you have not yet worked out the identity of this creature. He is a beautiful specimen of the cat world. He has a sleek, dark brown coat, highlighted with golden stripes. He is always well-groomed, as he takes a great deal of care with his appearance; furthermore, he does not want to let the Chief down – oh, no, that would just not do. She deserves a crew that maintains high standards; he is very proud of his position as Stowaway, and though her partner for several trips, is still travelling undetected. If Helen only knew how much he had helped her on that last one, the Jules Verne Challenge – thousands of nautical miles of perfect navigation through dangerous and stormy seas. But, together, they had made it back to base. A job well done! No records broken, but a challenge met; a hurdle overcome.
 
He has enemies: others want to inherit his title; they want to invade, and rule over, his territory. Oh, yes, several serious assaults have been made, but have all underestimated his strength and, of course, his skill. On the grapevine, he is known as Shergold Nano Nine, because of his speed. He had never been a bad sportsman though, never feared because of being unfair or brutal. No, he has gained this honourable position fairly and squarely. He is regarded by all as a cat of superior breeding, a distinguished sort of fellow.  Yes, his position is coveted, and always worth, fighting for – even worth losing a life for, but with nine, it is worth the risk.
 
One thing puzzles him: why has Helen not seen him? In a way, in a strange, self-deluding type of way, Shergold wants to be found - then he could be claimed. He wants to share her life more fully – no more skulking about, living off scraps, dealing with opponents. Ah, peace – that is what he seeks. Still, for now, he must lie low; there would be a right time: providence would shine on his golden coat, his coat of many colours. Patience was always rewarded – that, he had learned over the years was a certainty, a truth.
 
The Kingfisher was her home; afloat on the waves, Helen could find out who she really was. Times were often lonely, but self-reliance in times of difficulty had made her strong. She was very like Shergold: a survivor. Exposed on the open waters, she realised her fragility, her size: she was always in awe of nature – of its beauty, vastness, and magnificence. This knowledge made her strong – ready to meet the challenges that it threw at her. Nature filled her with excitement, but it also made her calm and serene. Shergold shared these delights with her: they were so similar; that is why he knew they were made for each other. Just give him time: it would happen……and soon. He could feel it in his bones.
 
 
 
Chapter 4
 
 
November 27, 2004: Helen was ready. The trimaran was packed up, bursting with supplies. Shergold knew this would be a long trip. He needed to sort out the details – check he had enough food for a few days and that he had several good hiding places. New things in plastic packaging had been squashed into every available space. He intended to have a recky when the coast was clear. He would have to be quick because he could sense her mood – it was tense; moreover, her voice was slightly higher than usual; her muscles, more taut; her movements, quick and purposeful. Something was going down. And then, what about that frenzy of photographers? So much coming and going! Shergold had even managed to get behind her, sitting on the harbour wall, in order to pose – he felt sure it would be one of the best photographs. Imagine seeing his perfectly groomed, feline face, with cropped whiskers appearing on newspapers all over the world!
 
Helen locked the door of the main cabin, checked that the tow rope was secure, then climbed into her bright blue Beetle and headed off into the sunset. Meanwhile, Shergold inspected every section of the craft – including the locked cabin, which he could enter via a small open window. He found several places of refuge in which he could hide. His favourite was still under the tarpaulin on one of the wings that housed the spare, inflatable, emergency boat. It was soft, weather proof, and even when the sea was rough, he knew (from past travels) that he would be safe, that he would not fall out, as it was so securely fixed.
 
This all proved to be quite a relief. He now had to build up food supplies. The evening was drawing to a close. He did not expect to see Helen before dawn. He had just one night in which to work hard and fast. The stars started to appear in the sky, twinkling against its black velvet backdrop. The air was clear and dry, though it was cold. He could see his breath in it, leaving a smoky trail as he sped along the tracks that led to the warehouses and restaurants. Waterside dining had become very popular, so there was no shortage of scraps, and haute cuisine to be found. Delving into waste bins, he retrieved all sorts of delicacies: bacon rind, cheese, whitebait – his favourite – potato, and a variety of cooked meats – indeed, he would have feasts fit for a king.
 
He had to make several trips back to the Kingfisher in order to deposit his food, protecting his horde by moving quickly. Other predators were out; he would have to be careful in order to ensure that he was not followed. He chased several mice; they scurried under boxes of discarded vegetables and packaging. He was the victor. He decided to take them back for Helen – she deserved a good start to her journey; maybe they would become her lucky mascots!
 
But, like the night before, he was followed. He decided not to look around; he did not want the enemy to know that he had spotted them. He did not want to lead them to the Kingfisher, so he was forced to make a detour. He swiftly ran past a ball of heavy rope that was tied to a pole near one of the jetties. He dropped his cache near it, knowing that it would be concealed. He had to make this drop very smoothly, because every morsel would be needed and time was running out. He then jumped up on to a bench that was situated near the waters’ edge – usually a perfect rest place for sightseers and boatmen. He had a good view: he could scan the area and look keenly into the shadows. He waited, back arched, eyes scrutinising every centimetre of ground, ears alert to the slightest sound. Nothing. But Shergold knew that something lurked in the dark of the night. A strategy was called for.
 
He leapt off the bench, and made for the nearest lamppost. In the harsh light, with his mouth wide open as it gave out a coarse shriek, he presented a menacing sight. Mice and rodents flew into every possible hole for cover. The atmosphere was tense, a metal coil primed, waiting to be released. He continued to inspect the vicinity. Nothing. But he knew that he was not alone. Fear stalked the hidden threat: his challenger. Could they take the risk? Should they just turn and run, admit defeat. Shergold was not an equal match: he was too good, too advanced in technique.
 
Razor arched his backed. He stepped into the half-light, partly concealed by an angular shadow. His mouth was dry. He felt rooted to the spot. He could not move. Fear had overcome him. Shergold was not amused. He sensed the fear, but felt cheated. This threat had sought him, but yielded without a fight. He wanted one: he liked to demonstrate his superiority because it kept others at bay: he had a reputation to uphold.
 
He instinctively ran towards Razor; their eyes locked; their tails, like swords, lashed at the nothingness. Their mouths opened wide, baring sharp, dangerous teeth. Razor knew that his unexpected weapon was an advantage: Shergold had never seen teeth like it: incredibly sharp, long, and crowded - like those of a crocodile. He dived on to Shergold, and bit into his neck. Pain seared through his body. He was momentarily in shock – most opponents never got that close, close enough to inflict pain, to draw blood. He was furious and with such fury clawed Razor’s face with great force. They backed off, but then, seconds later, renewed their attack. Shergold leapt on to Razor’s head, with one of his practised moves. Razor was stunned. Claws tore at his face. His muscles weakened: he had given up.
 
Shergold did not like blood. He did not have to make his victory ugly, so he retreated. His eyes still held those of Razor. Simultaneously, they bounded off into the night. Shergold was distraught: how could he have let this happen? He would have to nurse his wounds carefully in order to avoid infection. What about the trip? He would have to remain properly hidden until he was handsome enough to be found. He felt despondent as he strolled back. He had even forgotten his food. This had turned out to be a very eventful last night. Was this a bad omen? He would have to take very good care of Helen – one can never predict the future; the best laid plans of mice and men…..
 
Shergold slunk into his bed, licked his wounds, and drifted into sleep, tormented by giant teeth, and flickering lights. But he was a happy, optimistic chap and so recovered very well. Dawn broke heralding the new day, and the start of a mammoth adventure.
 
 
 
Chapter 5
 
 
 
Shergold woke later that usual; the golden light of the early morning had roused him, but due to his escapades the night before, had fallen back to sleep. The flurry of activity beyond his sleeping quarters spun him into action. He cautiously poked his head out from under the tarpaulin. Helen was ready at the helm; she was facing the huge number of people that had gathered at the waters’ edge. They were all waving excitedly. She was grinning like a Cheshire cat – that was meant as a compliment, because Shergold had many friends from that region of the country. This was the start: they were on their way. He dived back under for cover. He could not risk being seen at this late hour, with so many eyes fixed intently upon the boat. Later, Helen would recall being told about a cat that had been observed on a news report peering from the back of her one-man tamarin – was she really sailing single-handedly or had she secretly brought along crew? Would this invalidate her claim to the title she had so deservedly won? And thinking of Shergold would bring a smile to her lips. Right now, at this moment of departure, he was completely, absolutely, honestly Gov., unknown to her.
 
The cold bright sun beamed down on them. November was warmer than expected for this time of year, but it was still chilly, still winter. She was togged up, ready to bravely face the elements. Shergold was glad of his thickening coat, but less certain about the fierce winds they could meet on their travels. The Cape of Good Hope, he remembered from a past one, still filled him with fear. He would have felt so much happier cuddled up in her warm, protective arms. A child was pointing at him – he could see a boy with red, curly hair and a yellow jacket with his hand out-stretched; he had to dive for cover. The mother did not believe her son’s exclamations; one day, she would have to apologise for it. He was called Billy. After that, he followed Helen’s adventures with keen interest – unusual for one so young; he scoured every picture and read every report in detail: he had not imagined it! He would find out the truth.
 
Helen and Shergold sailed away, on a beautiful B & Q boat. The waters along the south west of Cornwall were calm. People waved from a distance, and shouted words of encouragement. Her shore team, back in Falmouth, and Shergold’s home, had already started to monitor every move carefully. Every wind direction was noted. Transmitters were working. They were all on board, travelling with her….and, of course, Shergold. What a team! Shergold, exhausted from the morning’s excitement, went back to sleep. The gentle rocking motion, sea air, and soft spray lulled him into a deep, restful state – he could not resist it. He had stolen a quick look at Helen; she was in complete control and seemed to be happy, peaceful – no reason to worry. He knew that when she needed him, he would be there.
 
He later awoke to hear voices; they seemed garbled and echoey. Helen was talking out loud. Who to? He was worried, until, creeping up towards the cabin, he spotted her talking into a microphone. They were confirming her position for the start line: somewhere between Ushant in northern France and Lizard Point, off the Cornish coast.  They would be heading for the Doldrums and hoped the weather would not be too calm; they also hoped that it would not be perilous, as hurricanes and storms sometimes form at this point of the equator. The sky was grey, streaked with blue and white. The wind was getting up. Helen was writing something down about dates and times. Now, it was Go; they were on their way - all out to break the world record. Joyon would just have to get used to it: Helen, this time, would succeed and his record would be broken. So, we raced over the Atlantic waves, with sails flapping quietly in the air above. Good fortune was on their side.
 
 
Chapter 6
 
 
Helen set the craft on course for the equator and decided to have a nap; it was important to take short breaks whenever the prevailing conditions allowed them. Shergold knew her routines and was relieved when he saw her snuggled up on the long seat which was situated in the cockpit, just outside the cabin. She was exposed to the open air, but being hardy through years of sailing, enjoyed the freshness it offered.
 
This was Shergold’s chance for a bit of exercise and to answer the call of nature! He climbed expertly on to the trampoline and relieved himself through the elastic bands that were tightly fixed on to the float.  This really presented no challenge at all to this sea-faring chap. Helen was still motionless, so he went into the cabin, and prepared another resting place in one of the storage cupboards right under her bed. Oh, had she but known! He had to work speedily, moving items, such as extra bedding, out of the way so that he could crawl in easily. The locker was fixed shut by a plastic fastener; it was possible to release it by pushing the end forcefully with his chin. Now, back to his other hide-away, double quick.
 
Helen was stirring. She did not notice the golden-coated uninvited guest that had run into the well underneath Kingfisher’s bow. He was struck by sunbeams. In her blurry-eyed state, he became a figure of her imagination. He was concealed behind a very large ball of thick, nautical rope. Sleep beckoned.  Helen went back to her controls; she was smiling as she surveyed the sea’s beauty, with its white foamy bubble bath, topping the deep blue water. They had made good progress, though she hoped the wind would pick up: revived from her rest, she was ready to take on the world.
 
 
 
Chapter 7
 
 
 
The Kingfisher travelled southwards for about 8 days. A good routine was being established: there was a rhythm to her day and night, which had to change, though, depending on the environmental conditions – especially, wind patterns and strengths, and sea currents. Fortunately, the weather in early December was fair. Helen’s confidence grew: she felt relaxed and content. She was used to her own company because she had amassed, in her young life, years of experience. She knew, too, that her journey, her record-breaking challenge, would only last for a certain length of time. Occasionally, she was lonely, but she could write her diary, read a book, think about future challenges, and maintain the boat; plotting her route and liaising with her shore team also took a lot of time – how could she be lonely with the friends she had at home, and who were always in contact with her? Lucky – that was her true state.
 
Helen did not think so, though, on the fifteenth day, as she headed for the Tropic of Capricorn. Sleep, during the night, had been restless: she had tossed and turned; she had sweated and experienced bad dreams – nightmares, even. Shergold, too, had been disturbed, and, frustrated because he could not work out what was wrong. He really enjoyed the warmth of that night – being so close to Helen was heavenly, as he slept undetected beneath her bed.
 
But he sensed her unease. Something was clearly wrong. He decided that a surveillance mission was needed; it would be a risk; speed was essential, as she often seemed to wake very suddenly from a deep sleep; tonight, her sleep was shallow, so she would be unpredictable. Shergold crept out silently and paced the cabin. He could feel that the heat emitting from the independent power unit was excessive: he often sat near it at night when Helen was in the cabin. From there, he could dive quickly, if necessary, into his outside hidey-hole. Furthermore, being so sensitive, his brilliant nose picked up an unusual scent – a smell which was unpleasant. He traced it to its source at the other side of the unit. Alarm bells rang, making his ears stand erect and his whiskers twitch – always a sign that trouble was brewing: a sixth sense, used for protecting his nine lives.
 
He surreptitiously returned to the cabin. Instinctively, he knew what to do. He licked Helen’s face and used his tail – the soft, beautiful end - to tickle her little nose. She brushed them with the back of her hand, but remained sleeping. He tried again, to no avail. Drastic action was needed: he knocked her cutlery store off the shelf. It clattered noisily to the floor. She opened her eyes and thought she was seeing things: a cat dashing about in her cabin. But she felt dizzy and knew that her eyes were playing tricks. She also felt nauseous, so she hurried out to the deck. She turned around to look back at the cockpit and noticed a tiny spark fly from the power unit. Shock! She switched it off immediately, realising that something was seriously amiss. She inhaled the fumes, quite noxious, and had to turn away in order to breathe in some clean, fresh air.
 
Now she would have to apply the technical skills she had acquired from training and, of course, past difficulties when sailing single-handedly. Problems of this type, though, rarely seemed to reoccur, so she would have to think them through carefully and get help from the shore team. She alerted them and tried to convey the situation accurately. It was the middle of the night, but one member could always be contacted at base. Sparkey was there, and he seemed very lively – thank goodness. She recalled her experience – how she had woken up with bleary eyes and a fuzzy head. The fumes had affected her badly. Sparkey was incredibly relieved – potentially, they could have killed her.
 
It was due to expert planning and insight that The Kingfisher’s transmission system was independent of this power circuit. Sparkey’s technical help was greatly needed. If she had not been able to radio for help, she might not have resolved the problem properly, and with speed. He told her exactly what to do, but in order to carry out the repairs she had to switch it back on. Immediately, more sparks blew out, burning her left hand in the process. Thank goodness she had not used her good right one. She immersed it in the salty cold sea. A wiring for a vent which supplied heat into the cabin had short circuited and set another resister on fire. The gas supply had continued, but its connecting seal had been burnt by the fire, causing fumes from gas and rubber to be released. Her Guardian Angel was indeed vigilant that night. Now wide awake, she checked her stats. She was still on course for the Southern Ocean and was making excellent time. In another five or six days she would be en route for the Cape of Good Hope. And hope was firing her beating heart. Having tasted bad luck, she expected the rest of her adventure to run smoothly. Nothing that bad could happen again! Or so she thought. Shergold was there by her side, metaphorically; he would never let her down. 
 
 
 
Chapter 8
 
 
The winds blew mightily, carrying the light craft over the wonderful waves. She was so happy to be in tune with the sea, dancing over its white and foamy platform. She would soon hit forty degrees of latitude and then change direction, turning east to sail along the most southerly tip of Africa.  She then planned to sail in the Southern Ocean towards the south coast of Australia, sighting first Cape Leeuwin on its far west point.  This section, and indeed it would transpire later to be the whole of this ocean, was going to be arduous. Shergold, again, was going to play a very important role.
 
 
At last, she was nearing the Cape of Good Hope. It was about one week before Christmas. Her family and friends would be arranging lots of gatherings; this knowledge heightened her feelings of aloneness. Eighteen days had passed; she was becoming conditioned to her isolation, but found it very hard. She really missed being with people with whom she could relax and have a laugh. Keeping in touch with her shore team was a life-line. They travelled with her and shared her moments of joy and fear. She could see the New Year in with – dared she hope – a great celebration; months of earnest preparation would pay off. This would be a fantastic present; a gift she would treasure for ever.
 
Wrapped in her thoughts, Helen did not notice the sudden wind that seemed to funnel through the islands near to the Cape. She had not expected this section to be awkward. Shergold’s keen sense of danger had awoken him from a pleasant doze. He peered out from the well. Helen was checking her control centre, and relaying her fears to base. Sparkey was on duty. He fixed her coordinates on his map and read the forecast. Helen noted winds speed and directions. They were constantly changing. She decided to lower the sail, in order to achieve greater control of the Kingfisher. In retrospect, she should have worked more quickly, and lowered them more fully. Wind speed was at least force seven, and coupled with a heavy sea, produced very rough and hazardous conditions. As she tried to lower the sail, it stuck: the running rigging had not been a problem before. She noticed that something had been caught at the top of the forestay – perhaps, the wind had blown it there. There was no choice but to climb the mast and free it – quickly, before the wind got stronger and the craft, less stable.
 
 
 
Helen, on a good day, loved to climb the mast and survey the scene from such a vantage point. But not today. Nevertheless, she clipped her safety jacket and harness to the wire, and skilfully ascended the slippery pole. She found that a large piece of plastic had got caught up in the wires – enough to create a problem. It was quite hard to free, as the trimaran rocked unsteadily in a threatening sea. As she descended, she lost her footing and fell six feet, landing hard upon the cabin roof; worse still, at an awkward angle. She virtually limped back to the deck in order to finish lowering the sail.
 
Shergold watched her avidly, distraught by her difficulties. She had a sore hand and now a sore leg. He wanted to emerge from his hidey-hole in order to comfort her, but could not. It was unsafe for him, too, because the craft was so unsteady, and the wind, so fierce. Sensibly, she had retained her harness. Despite her situation, she behaved professionally, performing her tasks with expertise. She could not bear to lose the Kingfisher – it felt part of her; they were a team and belonged together. Back at base, Sparkey tried to instil confidence in Helen – this was a tough call. Shergold detected the anxiety in his voice; he hoped that Helen, busy and preoccupied, had not. She tied the sail down, and then decided on her next course of action. The two outrigger hulls provided the craft with greater stability than that of a normal sailing vessel; in such appalling conditions, this was a real asset.
 
Eventually, though after several hours of serious battling, the ferocity of the storm ceased; quite a gentle rain followed. She could now pull down the awning over the deck and cockpit. Warmth, at last! Shergold breathed a sigh of relief; he even started to purr, but checked himself in time. Helen nursed her damaged frame: she rubbed Echinacea over the bruises, cleaned and bandaged the cuts, and was relieved that no bones had been broken. She was annoyed with herself, feeling that she should have acted more quickly. Shergold knew that she had reacted really well – the storm seemed to have delivered its anger unannounced. Their fast-beating hearts slowed down and the sun almost tried to break through still-grey sky.
 
When Helen drifted off to sleep, Shergold ventured out from his refuge. He found the slippery surfaces an obstacle, but enjoyed the challenge. He had to take great care though, especially when he jumped on to the trampoline and rebounded into the air. He looked forward to the day when he could freely lay on this soft, yet firm material, and bask in the sunshine, rocking on gentle waters. This dream almost made him tearful, and bleary-eyed, and, therefore, less sure-footed. He hoped that their turbulent days were over; there had been much too much excitement – even for one such as Shergold, a distinguished leader of cats; a wise and compassionate cat that did not need to use force to gain superiority. He knew that respect had to be earned, not commanded; this set him apart from the others, so Helen was truly lucky to have found his favour.
 
He managed to get some food – scraps Helen had thrown out. He was fortunate that they had not yet been tossed overboard; she was usually very keen to maintain a clean home; perversely, the bad weather had brought him some good food! With a full tum, he was happy to retire under her bed. Yes, he was quite content to think of a cosy bed and a long-awaited sleep. Helen was busy talking to the shore team; and even he was starting to gain comfort from Sparkey’s deep, warm tones. Lulled into dreamland, he imagined rescuing Helen from the clutches of a band of alley cats; it was more terrifying than real life as he was forced to surrender seven of his precious lives to a mob of criminals – where was the justice? Though strong and, when needed, cunning, he could not survive when so outnumbered. Helen disturbed him when she got into bed – thank goodness his was fantasy was brought to an abrupt end. Another stretch of his long legs beckoned. This expression ‘cat naps’ certainly had a ring of truth about it – humans could be quite impressive at times! And off he went, whilst his uncrowned mistress slept soundly, at peace with her world.
 
 
 
Chapter 10
 
 
They crashed through the waves to Australia’s most southerly point on the west coast. The journey was tough, although she had pushed the Kingfisher to its limits. It made really good progress, taking many hours off the world record; this knowledge spurred her on, but at Christmas, she had certainly hit a low spot in her emotional cycle – more rocky than the sea outside.
 
Shergold shared her despondency: he really wanted to be close to her; he did not think he could last much longer without revealing how he felt. She needed him – of that he was sure. He did not have to wait long for the right moment. Something happened which will remain in both of their memories forever. This was something that he wanted to remain secret, but she had to tell the world!
 
 
One afternoon, early in January, as they headed for the end of the Southern Ocean, Helen had to do repair work on the right outrigger hull.  She had noticed that the trampoline fixing was starting to break away from the hull’s frame. It was not that serious because there was no structural problem with the Kingfisher, but nevertheless, she liked to keep a boat ship-shape and, to use her Granny’s phrase, hunky dory. So, in order to prevent further damage, she knew that she would have to get the work done promptly. Moreover, on calm days, she, too, liked to bask in the sunshine, though she rarely got the chance to do so. She would be scuppered without her trampoline; maintaining the hull would also be more difficult.
 
Helen put the appropriate tools and materials into a plastic work box; this would be clipped to her safety belt. She always had to take precautions against things falling into the sea – however, dextrous she regarded herself as being! She went barefoot, in order to allow easy movement. From a distance Shergold followed her every move.
 
The sun was shining now – quite a contrast to the rain and winds of previous days. There was a certain warmth in the breeze. They were not travelling very fast, but this provided a good time in which to move freely about the boat. The sails had been slightly lowered in order to reduce speed, but maintain a steady pace. Helen felt as if she wanted to jump up and down madly on the trampoline, but resisted the temptation. The wind was unpredictable and could change at any moment. She bounced on to the trampoline like a child – agile and fearless. She sensibly clipped her safety wire from her harness to the outer deck cleats. Adopting the correct procedures at all times was imperative – the mark of an experienced sailor, who was acquainted with the pitfalls of sailing without due care and attention: shortcuts were never worthwhile.
 
Shergold’s gaze was fixed, almost manic. His loyalty and devotion were laudable. He saw her repair the break with precision – a job like this should always be done well because someone’s future safety was involved. Helen never tired of keeping high standards, so she achieved a secure finish, but knew that she would check it carefully when she returned to base.
 
As she started to stand erect, she turned suddenly because of some nearby noise and commotion. This unexpected intrusion upon her tranquillity and dominance of the sea caused her to lose her footing. She fell backwards, with style, into the still-gentle waters. Thank goodness, the craft was moving slowly; she was being pulled along like the tail of a beautiful kite. Shergold was frantic. Without thinking, he rushed on to the trampoline, and sprung to the edge of the outrigger. He made a terrible, heart-rending wail; it pierced the air; it cut across the water to the source of disturbance.
 
A party of young people were pointing at Helen; their voices were high-pitched and raucous. They had come out to see Helen, knowing that she was in the vicinity, not far off the south east coast. Their boat was quite big – sturdy enough for strong waves and wind. They were obviously competent sailors to be so far out. They cruised towards her. She was in the water, trying to haul herself back in. At no point was she worried. This type of occurrence was typical for any one used to racing, though it was not really expected in a trimaran – a dinghy, yes; even a small yacht, but not a 75 feet piece of superb sleekness and craftsmanship.
 
However, she was in a state of shock and wondered if she had knocked her head unknowingly as she fell. A cat! A cat on the trampoline, shrieking for the entire world to hear! The other yacht sidled closer, with cameras ready. They were calling to her, offering to help. By now she was nearly back on board, scrambling and climbing like a trapeze artist. They, too, were stunned by Shergold’s appearance. Helen exchanged some words with them, but meanwhile both boats were being edged forwards by the wind. They only talked about the cat. How did she get there? Had Helen brought her as a surprise? Did her shore team know? Ah, yes – of course: it must have been a joke, a gift? They were too kind – knowing that she loved cats and that it was a journey that included Christmas. No – it can’t have been! They would have to have told her, because animals were not allowed on racing boats; furthermore, how would she look after it as they never docked? Indeed, how had the cat managed? How had she not noticed it? Its smell, for a start.
 
Shergold’s instinctive reaction was to run for cover, so he dived under the well, behind the rope store. She sought him out, using a soft, non-threatening voice. He knew its kind tones were genuine – his senses were far too sophisticated to betray him. She called. He answered with a soft, plaintive meow. They approached each other cautiously, showing respect. She put out her hand and he responded by moving towards it. He rubbed his slobbery mouth over her salty fingers. It was love at first touch – for both of them. Helen was absolutely amazed, nervous, elated, confused. Shergold was relieved, peaceful, content, overjoyed. From this moment on, the journey took on a new dimension. Later on, they would find out that their photographs had been splashed all over the world, much to the incredulity of the shore team back in Falmouth who were certain that they had checked the Kingfisher thoroughly before it had set off.
 
 
 
 
Chapter 11
 
 
 
They continued sailing along the Southern Ocean. They were on course for the South Pacific Ocean, and Cape Horn on the South American coast. Their latitude was approximately sixty degrees. Helen had feared this part of the globe because the weather always posed a challenge – possibly unwanted – for most sea-farers. She also expected to be trailed at some point by supporters and enthusiasts from the Falkland Islands and South Georgia. This passage of time proved to be relentless – day after day, mile after nautical mile. At one moment she desperately wanted to reach the Cape, but simultaneously, knew it was a challenge that she would rather postpone.
 
She was getting close to South America when more trouble drifted their way: icebergs. Helen had already spotted some far out, but as they got near to the Southern Pacific Basin, she found that she was even forced to dodge them. It proved to be an obstacle course – one day, in particular, was very taxing, as so many unexpectedly floated their way. Shergold monitored her navigating prowess with interest, but was unaware of the hazards these large, sea-rocks created for the daring Kingfisher. This ice was hard – any impact at speed could wreck the boat, or certainly create irreparable damage. The outriggers were at risk, so she had to manoeuvre slowly and carefully, constantly reminding herself of the width involved. At one point, a large piece got wedged underneath the left trampoline, between the two hulls. They seemed to carry it for some distance, until Helen, working with caution, managed to push it away with a large rod.
 
Strangely, the sight was fascinating and beautiful; it surreal to be alone, trapped loosely between giant cubes and shards of frozen water that glittered under a bright, but cold sun. She lowered the sails – there was no option, although it seriously threatened her speed and therefore her record-breaking goal. She carried on pushing the obstacles out of the way until she eventually broke into a clearing. Fortunately, the wind picked too; she could go all out to make up for lost time and pace. The Kingfisher responded well to the challenge and bounded over the waves as if flying – free and in love with life. The ride was exhilarating. Shergold, though a cat that only took calculated risks, could not deny that this surrender to speed was worth it; furthermore, he trusted Helen’s judgement completely: she had never let him down, even before their friendship had been sealed.
 
The sun went down; darkness descended, enveloping the kingfisher. The red and white trimaran, with its cold white sails, appeared as a dot, bobbing along on the silvery waves. Helen and Shergold seemed lost on the vastness of this ocean; yet this was deceptive: this sturdy, resolute team knew exactly where they were heading and, furthermore, they were right on target.
 
Helen, with a wide, empty sea and a well-plotted course, decided to retire for a short nap – much needed after hours of concentrated steering. Shergold nestled in close to her, in his usual cosy bed. How strange to think that only a short time ago they had been close, yet so far apart! But Shergold was restless; he closed his eyes, but found no peace. Helen was exhausted; she fell into a very deep sleep, oblivious to the world. Shergold decided to get some fresh air. He went up to the deck and put his paws on the side deck. He looked out, surveying the seascape. He at once felt very small, very vulnerable – his mistress was not there to protect him. In the day, the mood was less threatening, but now, with his senses impaired, he felt insecure. Something was really disturbing him. But what?
 
 
 
Chapter 12
 
 
Bump! A tiny knock, but it made Shergold lose his balance. In the blackness, he could not see anything. His sense of hearing was sharpened. A fairly quiet scraping sound. A slightly raised portion of the trampoline! Trouble! This remarkable cat, without hesitation, swept into the cabin to awaken a voyager, who was currently wading through the Florida Everglades. She was knee deep in slime, being bitten alive by all sorts of frightening, nameless insects.  Helen jumped up with a start. Shergold’s stance indicated fear: every muscle was tight; eyes, staring; ears, pointed sharply; tail, erect and flailing. She leapt up and followed him swiftly outside. She assessed the situation, and the level of danger, instantly. The Kingfisher was starting to rise, as an iceberg jacked up the right hull. It was moving towards the main hull, being carried by the wind and water currents. The daggerboard, which stabilises the hull, was being pressurised, too. They were tilting leeward, as the iceberg was being carried in the direction of the wind.  She had to work quickly or the boat would capsize; she would never be able to right it, alone.
 
Helen did not panic; as always, she just focused on the job in hand. No time to alert base, but she did radio in and switched on the web cam. The shore team could monitor her actions, but they could play no part: this scene would be re-enacted many times in the future. She had been prepared for ice, but not quite so dramatically. She used a specially made gun to blast the rock; small sections broke away. Progress! Shergold knew that she needed space to work, so he positioned himself near the control centre and maintained an elegant, but nervous pose. She used the long rod again in order to push it away. It was huge and very dangerous; it could have gigantic – impossible to move or break. She thanked God that she could cope, and knew that her guardian angel was with her.
 
She carried on for what seemed like hours, pushing the iceberg away with the rod, spraying it with the gun, and monitoring damage or potential damage to the craft. After one hour of battling, she won – they won! Shergold, as witnessed now, by her home team, was duly crowned the King of the Kingfisher, for without his good sense, and clearly his nine lives, they would have lost the race and, worse still, possibly their lives. This double act was now well and truly established.
 
 
 
Chapter 13
 
 
 
Helen could not sleep until she was well clear of this stretch of water, so they ploughed on through rough seas for miles and miles. The Cape Horn was next – a final test, she felt, of her real sailing capabilities. She had now reached about one hundred and thirty degrees of longitude. Bursts of strong wind had propelled the Kingfisher at a good speed towards the Cape. She was only a few days away. Shergold, sensitive to voice tone and mood, was always able to detect Helen’s anxiety or tiredness, and in this case, the difficulty of the stage that they had reached. The Cape had become synonymous with fear, challenge, success, terrible winds, and frightening currents. But nothing could really depress her spirits – it was just another mountain, over which, she had to climb. She was a great sailor, who especially loved all that off-shore racing offered. Shergold wondered what challenge lay in store after this one. She had often mentioned the Atlantic – crossing from England to America, solo (well, not quite). At least it would be a matter of days rather than months; he was looking forward to it already. That is why he liked to be a part of her life – all that excitement and energy! And, furthermore, he felt safe: she knew exactly what she was doing.
 
They drove on, and met every type of weather. They did, indeed, face mountainous seas and horrendous head winds, but Helen’s courage and perseverance remained constant; it did not falter.  Cape Horn did not disappoint, either: it was difficult, and she had to stay alert until she had passed through it, up towards the east coast of South America.  But it had proved to be much easier than she had anticipated:  a sudden change, producing fairer weather conditions, had given them a time advantage – something she badly needed after all the delays the icebergs had created. And, now, finally, they had sailed to the end of the Southern Ocean. On reflection, the entire journey through it had been exhausting. Of course, there had been moments of exhilaration because Helen always enjoyed a challenge, but there was a limit. Shergold had found his way into her life though – surely, this made every negative into a positive?
 
They cut through the two British Islands – the Falklands and St Georgia and were amazed to see boats and yachts coming out to speed them on their way. By now, the whole world knew about her privileged passenger. Shergold made sure that he could be seen. When the wind was light, he would jump acrobatically on the trampolines and pose, with paws mounted on the small side deck. Helen found it very amusing. The shore team monitored his activity too – he had certainly made their work more interesting and entertaining. The seas were rough, so she was surprised to see so many fans, but what she met a few days later, was something she had never expected. Even Shergold felt his insides turn outward. For him, this was probably the worst event of their most eventful voyage.
 
 
Chapter 14
 
 
 
This was the final strait – upwards and onwards: home was in sight. They were now in the Atlantic, heading back towards the Equator. The winds were lashing against the sails. The Kingfisher tore through the waves, making the shore team anxious. Helen battled on. She had to employ every bit of sailing knowledge that she had gained over the years, and more. She moved quickly and courageously. Shergold could not take the strain, so he lay cuddled up under her bed, praying in his cat-like way for everything to calm down.
 
The craft seemed to be tipping side-ways a little too much, but Helen knew what it could take. She continuously adjusted sails, and tacked, heading in one direction and then another in order to use the wind to her advantage. The Kingfisher was pushed to its limits, but it had been well-designed and like Shergold, would not let her down. Helen ensured that she kept her strength up, by regularly drinking glucose-enriched bottles of squash. The sea pounded them mercilessly for hour upon hour. Sparkey, back at base, monitored her position, checking continuously for changes in wind speeds and direction. He was stunned by her courage; he was in a state of trepidation, but Helen had no time to be frightened: she carried on professionally.
 
At one point, she was given a break: the winds seemed to lose their wrath and the waves became less wild. This gave her a chance to ascend the mast again; there was a tear, probably caused by the strong gales – the mast was able to bend but in doing so must have overstretched the tension of the jib. With such force battening against it, a tiny tear could turn into a huge one. Fortunately, when she inspected it closely, not only was it small enough to mend easily, she could also reach it with out having to lower the sail – time being very important if she was to beat the current world record.
 
 
With the job done, Helen took at few moments to scan the distant waters. She was alone, very high up, with a good friend below. Shergold had started to climb the mast, but gave up because it was too slippery – cats know when they are beaten. Helen realised that the winds were now becoming light – too light. With them, rain fell. This was just about all that she needed. It was a strange experience, staying up there for so long – normally, she would be clambering up and down, getting the job done. But this, she knew would possibly her last time to take it all in, for she really was on the last stretch. She was queen of the Atlantic, surveying the seascape over which she ruled. This was a great moment to remember, as the sun was setting, turning the foamy waves into a golden bath. The sky was beautiful, with streaks of pink and grey, painted casually on a light blue canvas. From their whiter edges, the light from the sun still beamed, now restrained by the closing day. She felt intoxicated by it all – the beauty that she, alone, at that single moment in time, could capture.
 
Suddenly, her peace was broken: she was jolted from behind, with such a force that she nearly fell from the mast. She turned around, but saw only rippling water. However, this water had been disturbed because its movement was more energetic than that beyond it by about two metres. Her heart started to pound. She could feel the hairs on her neck begin to rise. She made a quick descent, almost slipping off from the mast.  Shergold became alert – every sense on stand-by. His spine became arched, tense. Helen peered over the side, to see, deep in a darkening sea, a white and black shape: a whale! It was massive – dangerously enormous. She was momentarily thrown – how should she react? Fear would be useless. Navigating carefully in order to avoid it would be sensible. Shergold sensed the presence of another animal. He was terrified by its size; he sensed its strength: equality, he could not presume. He would simply have to admit a defeat: the whale now the conqueror by default. Wisely, he ran for cover. In fact, he virtually flew into the cabin and buried himself in the spare blankets that had become his cosy bed.
 
 Helen had considered such an encounter because it was not unusual to find a pod of dolphins or other such creatures encircling the kingfisher, but she did not welcome sharks or whales. Her natural instinct for survival kicked in. She cruised, kept quiet, contacted base, speaking in a low voice, and tried to remain calm.  She kept her eyes fixed on this mammal that was big enough to topple the trimaran. She should not assume that it would want to do so, or that it was naturally aggressive. In a way, it was just learning about its environment. It swam alongside her; they were parallel. She narrowly avoided another collision by veering the Kingfisher away, to the left – the wind saved her. Everything progressed calmly. Eventually, bored perhaps, the whale glided away. He had detected no threat; he had smelled no food; he had tasted no fear. The awesomely huge tank of sea life was probably no threat, but as its leathery and barnacled immensity gracefully floated away, Helen and Shergold breathed very deep sighs of relief. Helen had felt totally insignificant and vulnerable in relation to this beast. Indeed, she and the Kingfisher were, for a short time that seemed like a lifetime, absolutely fragile and miniscule. The vast sea, with its vast inhabitants, made her even more aware of what she had truly achieved. This was not just a voyage of endurance, but one of courage, of self-reliance, of skill, of necessary good fortune, of respect for the environment, of passion and love, of adventure, and of team work.
 
They plotted their course and continued sailing towards home. There were several more days of hard graft ahead of them; perhaps, a week. There was certainly no time waste if the Kingfisher was to break a record. The wind was behind them, as they blasted their way through the midnight blackness. Helen and Shergold snuggled up together inside the cabin. The shore team tracked them. They had a chance to rest. They needed to restore their energy, which was seriously lacking after the adrenalin rush from their earlier encounter with the whale. The night passed safely, and they embraced the new day as the sun broke through the clouds.
 
 
 
 
 
Chapter 16
 
 
This was it: the moment of triumph: they had made it. Helen looked over the sea towards Ushant, in northern France. This was the finishing line. Helen could not quite absorb the fact: home! She started to relax, almost consumed now with exhaustion. She only had to keep going for a few hours more but she was not alone, as a flotilla of other sea vessels came out to join her for this last stretch. She could hardly contain her excitement. A smile kept appearing on her face. She waved to her supporters. Shergold, confident in the light winds that propelled them home, was on top form. He paraded on the deck, jumped on and off the trampolines and, entertained his fans with his proud stance. He stayed close to Helen, reminding her, and the rest of the world, that this had to be a long-term partnership - they belonged together.
 
As they finally arrived back in Falmouth, having already broken the record, passing through the finishing line between Ushant and the Lizard Point, Helen stood proudly on deck, still totally in control. They were in British waters. They had brought something special home: a world record. The shore team, Helen, Shergold, and their supporters had won a crown. They eventually moored alongside the jetty and, rather unsteadily, mounted the wooden deck that would lead them to solid ground.  Shergold ran off, to avoid being picked up by the many people who sought him. He ran for cover. He found his usual home, in which he had not rested for over seventy days. Peace. Security. Relief. He lay there, cuddled up.
 
After a few moments, he was disturbed. High-pitched noises emanated from a nearby wooden crate. He lived at the back of the Sailing Club building, nestled in one of the wooden storage blocks. He had relied on privacy – this was his territory, and that had long been established by all cats that lived in the area. He felt emotional. It was true that he had been away for sometime, but surely others should respect that Shergold would be back – he always returned, always.
 
He stood up and stretched, letting out a warning cry as he did so. His beautiful golden fur glowed in the sunlight that poured in through the crack in the wooden panelling. It followed him as he stalked across to the source of disturbance. He peered with his long neck into the crate. Inside, laid a litter of kittens. They meowed, and purred. They tried in their weak state to focus on this newcomer. Shergold’s scent alarmed them: he was not their mother. Their little hearts began to beat slightly faster. Shergold was shocked. He did not know how to react. Where was their mother, and why was she bold enough to trespass? His answers were shortly answered, as a cat, pure black, apart from tiny white markings on the paws and chin, ventured into the block. Shergold’s presence did not bother her: she strolled up to the mewing bunch and looked Shergold in the eye. This was a match of equality – no need for fear, no need to challenge because they both appreciated the strength of the other.
 
Shergold inspected the contents of the crate a little more closely. One tiny paw tried to reach him. Its owner was golden-coloured, with white markings under its chin. It had streaks of colour along its back that made Shergold very protective. This was his family. He was torn. What about Helen? Where did his loyalties lie? He ran off; he needed time to think – as cats do. He scurried back to the crowd that had gathered outside the front of the Club. Helen was in its centre. She spotted Shergold and beckoned him to come to her arms. He ran joyfully. She cuddled him tightly; she stroked his golden coat; she rubbed her face against his. This was home: the Club. Here, he could have it all: Helen and the kittens. He would bring them up to become fine sailors. At last, he had a clear direction, a goal. Today was the start of a new adventure, as Shergold’s place in the Club was fully established. Shergold had become a king, with his own empire. From now on, he would be welcomed by all, but Helen was his first and only love – of that he was sure. But he already knew that he loved his family and would protect them at all costs. This was really a fantastic day. Now, all he needed to do was find some quiet place in which he could sleep. The Kingfisher bobbed gently on the water. She had been firmly tied to the shore. This would seem to be the perfect place, so he stole away from the action, and sought his sanctuary. Shergold descended into a deep and wonderful sleep. When he awoke, he knew that he would be ready for anything. And that was just as well!
 
The End                                                                      Julie Hughes, 8 August