IS THERE NO ESCAPE?

I would never admit it publicly, of course, but given my vocation there are times when going bush can begin to feel like work. So where does a fresh-air fiend go to frolic? In my case it's occasionally onto the water. And to be specific - given an aversion to getting wet - onto a boat on the water. Accordingly, four day's sailing on Boston Bay at Port Lincoln comes very close to being a holiday. It was race week in Lincoln, which meant my contribution was as moveable ballast. In between all the leaping about there were stints on the gunwale when I could enjoy the scenery.

The bay is a terrific place to sail - four times the size of Sydney Harbour - and though we never left its surrounds I was reminded of the times past when I'd sailed out of the bay to cruise the gulf beyond. On the longer beats to windward I had time to stare down into the deep green waters of the bay and dream innocent, carbon-neutral dreams about sailing to the distant islands.

However, even in sunny, far-flung Port Lincoln, there are reminders of the world we have created and the kind of thoughts that, for me at least, begin to feel like work. In our races we were often passed by large fishing boats ferrying pallet-loads of frozen pilchards to the tuna farms beyond the bay. A fellow crew member reckons that 5,000 tonnes of pilchards a week are used here fatten up the tuna ready for export. 5,000 tonnes every week. And I couldn't help thinking to myself that a downturn in the Japanese economy and a little less demand for our tuna might not be such a bad thing for the planet.