anticipating sand

>> 1

As Zack flipped open the family photo album, memories of the past flooded back to him. He was visiting his family in Hobart and often flicked through them for youthful inspiration. He paused on a series of colourful holiday snaps taken at a friends family shack at Little Swanport on Tasmania's east coast. The photos had since become famous amongst his old school friends. Boardies and tank tops were positioned randomly in front of stunning coastal scenery. Beaches, surfboards, windsurfers, canoes, cooking, competition, crappy cars and crciket pitches became the backdrops. It was impossible not to feel lucky. Zack didn't like to dwell on the past but he was astonished how powerful the images had become once re-ignited in his memory. They were like an entire summary of his teenage years and spoke far more than a thousand words. He best described it as a time without a plan.

With a couple of days remaining on his trip to Tasmania he decided to visit Little Swanport to take some photos to satisfy his creative streak and see if things had changed. The drive was little more than one and a half hours from Hobart. With azure blue water, stunning views over to Coles Bay, deserted beaches, rolling waves and memories of sunburnt, over tired school holidays, it was a truly magnificent place. The 'block trip' as his friends used to call it always began the moment three cars pulled up at the bakery in Sorell, piled high with surfboards, windsurfers, kayaks and whatever else they could fit on. The journey wound up over the hills outside Sorell past Black Charlies Opening and through Buckland down to Orford. Zack found it a surprisingly short trip now that he had experienced Melbourne traffic. Ridiculously short.

Zack lived in Hobart for 30 years and had only recently moved to Melbourne. He always had mixed feelings about going home to see his parents and friends. Compared to life in Melbourne, Hobart was a much slower pace. Not so much his working life but the ease of windsurfing or surfing, mountain biking or playing golf, these seemed like a chore in Melbourne. In one day in Hobart you could go for an early surf, drive home, coffee in Salamanca, a lunch time windsurf then go for a ride up the mountain. From the beach to the river to rainforest to mountain all in a couple of hours. It didn't seem possible in Melbourne plus at most beaches you had to pay for parking and navigate the crowds. Hobart was easy. Too easy. He felt spoilt when he was there.

Orford was a small coastal town that was mainly inhabited over summer by the more wealthy Hobart families. It was situated on the Prosser river and was also coastal so it provided, as Zacks mind worked, boating, surfing, kayaking and windsurfing spots. A veritable plethora of water sports activities meant there was no time lost to thinking - something he preferred not to do, too much. He always passed an old tudor home which looked out of place right on the beach - and remembered one of his first overnight stays away from home with a friends family. Riding on a track high above the river to aboriginal runes and playing on the beach. The house had seemed huge back then. It still looked out of place but was much smaller these days.

Little Swanport was half an hours drive further, along the east coast road. The sea could be seen most of the way once past Triabunna and made for a spectacular view. Maria Island and the faded purple silhouette of The Hazards, the three mountains which looked over Coles Bay were in the distance. The Freycinet Pennisula rivalled Little Swanport in Zacks memories. Camping at Friendly beaches or at Coles Bay. Climbing the 'south face' of the burnt orange moonscape of the middle Hazard, Mt Amos. The 12 degree southerly winds in January. The 28 degree dehydrating bushwalking days (the next day!). The Iluka Holiday resort. The hut called 'Pelican'. Bundy Rum and breakfast cereal...

But the secret to Little Swanports charm was not really a secret. It was his friends parents beachhouse that was the icing on the cake, actually in many ways it was the cake. And in many ways he felt guilty for living in Tasmania and not having a more outdoorsy favourite spot, but who could argue with this place. Echoing through his mind was the anticipation of memories driving along the corregated gravel road towards 'the block'. The memories of being over taken by a red datsun sunny station wagon, fish tailing past in the race for the 'gate honours'. The memories of arriving late and seeing a hive of activity outside - windsurfer sails being tested, a cricket pitch being mowed, blue shiny speedos on the flag pole. Too many memories to take in and a slight disappointment that there was not going to be anyone there this time.

Zack arrived at around 10 in the morning. The weather was 'mostly fine' which was the Tasmanian weather forecasts way of saying just about anything could happen. The wind was westerly therefore offshore, a sign of winter, and a poor direction for windsurfing up there. He drove past the gate to 'the block' and noticed the trees were alot taller than fifteen years ago. Not much else had changed. There was one new slightly over done architectually designed home over on the northern most hill. This was a dispointment but reality. He was sure land prices here rivalled Melbourne now despite not a soul being there. Zack drove round the three gated residences, checked out the rolling 1 ft swell, always amazed how it would casually drift in for over 200 metres. He drove on to the paddocks, past the famous invisible log that dented one of the borrowed familly cars during rabbiting. He drove past the headland and down to the front gate. Daffodils, oil, ten guys on the car, cricket, too many thoughts raced through his mind.

He stopped the car and walked down to the beach. The beach was also full of memories. Surfing competitions complete with video cameras and judges, ironman runs ending in nose injuries, fire cracker night wars that went for hours, spot fires in sand dunes, burnt fingers and faces from panic, windsurfing lightning strikes, burying fish or screeming and shouting 'shark' after coming face to face with a 40cm gummy shark. Always laughing. He remembered bon fires, Mercury Cider and falling over.

He had the photos and video to relive these events and in a way being there didn't quite do it justice. He often wondered whether those memories were as good then as now. That age seemed to hold endless possibilities. Trying to justify it in his own mind he remembered there was always an event going on. With 10 guys, 3 would be diving for undersize abalone, 2 more would be reading, 3 more would be canoeing in the river and there'd be some sort of ball sport going on somewhere. There'd be a cook off at night with everyone commenting on the best way to cook abalone. You could do what you wanted for the whole day. At night there'd be spotlight with the torches and drinking games. He couldn't remember one hangover either. Friends would be up early surfing or cooking bacon and eggs. It was just simply packed with adventure. The many photos capturing one point in time glowed like they were alive whenever he looked back at them and he could see why. He even, not surprisingly painted them for his final year 12 art presentation. He called them 'the anticipation series'. Translating in to 'the memory series' now he presumed.

>> 2

Halfway up the windswept beach he noticed what he thought was a wooden dinghy, or at least the remains of one. It was unusual because there was never anything washed up on the beach. He wandered up as he thought it would make quite a good photo. As he got closer he noticed the peeling paint and broken wood panels. It didn't have a motor which he found strange - the beach was pretty coastal and rowing in the ocean wouldn't have been that beneficial he thought. Although there were a few inlets up and down the coast so it may have just drifted. He reached the dinghy and peered into it - a slight nervousness came over him as he expected a sign of life or not. There was nothing noticible at first glance but as he moved around the small boat he noticed a plastic bag protruding from one of the pockets under the small triangular over hang at the bow. He grabbed hold of it a pulled but it was wedged down the side between another piece of wood. After some perserverance he pulled the bag out. It contained a book. Not a classic leatherbound diary but an A4 hardcover sketchbook. It was waterlogged and most of the pages were sealed shut. He managed to peel a few of the pages open. There were a series of very well presented drawings of the east coast. Mainly pencil sketches. Zack noticed some had been painted but the colour had faded. He made out the Hazards and Wineglass bay. There were brief notes documenting the time of day and a thought such as 'so graceful' or another one 'calm'.

Zacks father was an lecturer in art education and at an early age he learnt about drawing and painting. It still frustrated him but he persisted. The reason he recalled, was to capture the scene he was standing in so he could regain that feeling without being there. Quite greedy really. Anyway he noticed how elegant and well drawn the scenes were, a truly accomplished artist he thought. The sketch book didn't make sense and Coles Bay was at least 16 nautical miles, impossible to reach in a dinghy against the current. The obvious explanation was simply an artist left his book here.

That was simple until he flipped over a page and saw an image that intrigued him. The drawing was a scene which looked like it was in the ocean looking towards the beach he was standing on. He knew it well because he had windsurfed off the beach alot. It looked further out than he'd been. Alot further. There were no notes. The next drawing was just the ocean - the word 'monotony' was scratched into the paper. The next page was just 'hen and chickens - the last day' V.M 4/7.

The 4th of July was two weeks ago and Zack always used to laugh at the name given to the islands off the south coast of the Schouten Island at the southern end of Freycinet Pennisula - The Hen and chickens - because there was one large rock formation surrounded by 3 smaller ones. Not a safe place to be in a wooden dinghy. He still didn't really believe there was someone missing but decided to have another look at the dinghy. Up the front under in a small storage compartment he noticed an empty water bottle and an expensive gortex rain jacket compacted into a zipped bag. This was a bit of a shock and it was a stark contrast to the shattered driftwood dinghy. There were a few fishing hooks and blood stains he recognised as being from fish guts. If someone had drifted out to sea they would have to have launched the dinghy at Coles Bay but there was too much shelter and too much coastline to not be able to row or swim in. The only other explanation was that a boat had sunk in the area.

It was then Zack noticed a red object further up the beach. He reached it and found it was a life jacket covered up by sand. The life jacket did have some markings - 'The Sea Wanderer'. Another clue. He thought he had better report his find to the local police but he was still miffed. The prevailing winds and currents wouldn't push a dinghy to this beach especially from the southern end of Schouten Island, Zack thought. He was scouring the beach for more evidence half expecting to see a body but didn't. He decided to head back to the car. He found it hard to think without wondering how awful it would have been to be stuck in a dinghy in site of land floating towards New Zealand.

He walked up the dunes, past where he had buried the fish remains all those years ago. It had been found by the dog and happily brought back to the house. The smell was wonderful the next day. He ducked through the fence and turned around to survey the scene one more time. It was cloudy now and the wind had strengthened a bit. He thought of windsurfing in the bay in a thunderstorm, an eery memory. Zack pondered almost forgetting about his dinghy discovery. He was clutching the notebook and life jacket, not entirely sure whether he felt responsible enough to take it.


>> 3

He didn't really want to leave but thought he would drive up to Swansea, a small town up the coast, to hand in the objects. It was also the most spectacular piece of coastline and he loved the drive. The road wound along the coast and up over cliffs that looked down onto secluded beaches - always with a view of the penninsula. Swansea contained the closest shop to Little Swanport and pub, actually it was a toss up between it and Triabunna but the drive was better.

He reached the police station about 1pm and was greeted by an older weathered policeman who didn't look like he'd seen much action in the last 20 years. He handed over his findings, hoping the policeman would let him keep the sketchbook - he liked the drawings. The cop was quite interested and looked a little concerned. He called the Coles Bay police station but there were no reports of a Sea Wanderer that visited recently, in fact in the last 10 years. He said most likely the dingy had floated out of any one of a hundred bays along the coast. Zack left the life jacket and the cop didn't see any reason why he couldn't keep the sketch book despite the scrawled note writing it off as a wacky arts student trying to be creative.

He thought he'd better start heading back to Hobart as he was leaving the day after. He always felt like it was the end of something when he left, mainly due to the fact he used to leave at the end of the school holidays. Zack drove down the coast and thought he'd just drive back out to the beach to take some final photos. The sun was out again. He also couldn't let go of his thoughts. No one would have survived two weeks with out a boat in one of the most treachous seas around.

As usual when he arrived the weather had closed in again. He thought he could take some more dramatic photos. Just as he drove around past the invisible log he heard a loud sharp thud. And then again. And then another one which broke the side window of the car. It was a bullet. Someone was shooting at him.

He floored the car and drove straight towards the beach house having no idea what to do. He just knew he had to get away. Another shot... this time through the back window. He worked out the shooter must be to the west. He was driving north along the paddock and the ocean was on the eastern side. He drove straight through the locked gate of the beachhouse and pulled up next to it jumping out and hiding behind the stone wall. Another shot. This time straight through the windscreen. The shooter must have moved. There were only open paddocks to the south, and three buidling on next doors block. He must be there. Zack broke into the beachouse to get a view from the upstairs window. He knew the police would take half an hour to get here so he had to save himself. He still had no idea why he was being shot at.

Upstairs he dropped to the ground and crawled along the floor toward the south facing window in the bedroom to see if he could see anything. As he crept up he saw a figure walking from next door towards the beach house. He realised he had to get out. In a flash he was down stairs and in the car. He knew the shooter wouldn't see him now till he came around to the west of the house. He just had to take his chance and drive fast. Eyes forward he drove. One bullet hit the boot of the car. The next through the back window. He hit the front gate hard and kept driving up the corregated road out of view from the gun man. He was safe for now and knew the gunman didn't have a car within at least a km. Zacks car had bullet holes everywhere. He called 000 and informed them of the Little Swanport gun man. He described his car and said he wouldn't stop until Triabunna. He was shaken.

The police had come from Orford and that made a total of four. They were quite impressive and had radioed Hobart for support. Zack explained to them all his movements that day. How he had found the dinghy and the book as well as the life jacket. How he had been to Swansea and reported it. How he had been shot at. He was asked to remain at the police station in Triabunna while the police took off north to Little Swanport. He didn't expect them to return for a while and was a little surprised but relieved that he wasn't asked to go with them. One young officer had commented that its probably just a drunk local having a laugh. They had briefly looked over the car and knowingly identified the gun as a .22 calibre rifle. This didn't mean much to Zack. He'd only ever shot at pine cones with air rifles. It sounded serious enough though and did enough damage to the car to look like it would leave a lasting impression on a person. The radio in the police station was buzzing. Tasmanians were well aware of the damage a single gunman could do after Port Arthur but Zack couldn't help but think it had some thing to do with the dinghy. Just a gut feeling.

As he sat there he listened to the police discussing their postion. They had blocked off Little Swanport Road were it joined the highway and were proceeding with caution along the corregated gravel road towards the coast. No sign of anything or anyone. Hobart were sending a team of Special Operations guys up but they were still 20 minutes away.

He flipped through the sketch book thinking he might find something that might help. He was still infatuated with the detail of the drawings, the accuracy of the water - something he found very hard to do. The first drawing was a place he didn't recognize. He guessed it was Flinders Island just from photos he had seen - just as spectacular as Coles Bay and often used as the first port of call on a Bass Strait Crossing. He thought it was obvious the owner of the dinghy has come from the mainland. Bass Straight was a particularly hostile stretch of water to navigate due to its shallow depth. Swell was particularly steep in high winds and damaging on all small vessels. He guessed that the there were probably more than one person on the boat. The next few drawings were of the coast from the Tasman Sea. He thought he recognised the channel at St Helens as he had windsurfed in the bay. In fact a failed jump had catapulted him over the sail, round and under the water. His harness line - especially constructed out of hose pipe - had looped round and wedged him against the boom under the sail. Moments of panic followed with any pocket of air a godsend. Eventually with brute force Zack had yanked the harness off and surfaced and gulped for air. He clambered on to the floating board and lay there in shock. Idiot. He was relieved yet embarrassed. His first near death experience. On windsurfing back in he thought about being found under the sail stuck to the boom - and was further embarrassed - 'freak accident' crossed his mind. Eventually he realised he should just have just unclipped his harness from himself... Zac thought the artist had called into St Helens some one must have seen the boat. He guessed the police had more imortant things to do than investigate the dinghy so he continued studying the drawings.

The Special Operations Group continued straight past the Triabunna police station. The latest reports were of no sign of anything. There were only 20 or so houses in the area and lots of bushland. The southern side was cut off by the Little Swanport Lagoon and unless the gunman had negotiated the severe channel he would have to walk back as far as the highway to make his way south. The residents hadn't seen or heard anything and escaping the sight of a few police would not be particluarly hard. Zack began to think he was making it up and started to feel guilty and causing all this trouble. The he remembered the bullet holes.

After a few more hours it was starting to get dark. People were everywhere. Zacks rental car had been virtually pulled apart by a forensic team and at least one bullet had been found. The local police arrived back at the station with no news. They hadn't even found any evidence. Zack thought that maybe the gunman was just an over territorial local who acted as the local police. Far fetched but zack recalled a story of a mate who's parents owned a shack in a bay on the way to Port Arthur. Every time they left something in the place it was gone the next visit. After the thieves had stolen the table there was nothing left so they started taking doors and windows... The deserted shack is never that well protected. It may have happened to him too many times.

They decided to look into the existence of The Sea Wanderer and a V.M but there was no record of a boat leaving any of the major mainland sailing clubs - there was no record of The Sea Wanderer at all. That was pretty well it he thought. Maybe they'd keep looking for a few days and then give up. It may make the news then fade away.

>> 4

Back in Hobart the police arranged for Zack to get a new hire car as they were still dismantling the bullet caked original. On the way back from Triabunna he had kept an eye on the side mirror of the car just to make sure no one was following them - not that you would follow a police car. Nevertheless he was a little relieved when his new car was a different make and model. He drove back from the Bellerive police station across the Derwent Bridge always amazed of the magnificent view of Hobart at night city, not quite as spectacular as on a sunny day but post cardeqsue nevertheless. The streets were empty as usual for midnight on a week night. He drove through the city and down along Sandy Bay Road. Mykonos, the trusty old takeaway was the only shop open so he stopped in for a couple of dims sims and a potato cake. He arrived home to an empty house as his parents were up in Devonport with his sisters family. It was especially eerie. He'd grown up in the Lower Sandy Bay house. The views of the Derwent River and Eastern Shore were spectacular, appreciated even more now he wasn't living there.

He decided to have a quick search on the internet for anything to do with the 'Sea Wanderer' before he went to bed. There was a few older articles on boats of that name but nothing of any relevance. He decided to add 'artist' to his search just on a whim. The result stunned him. A New York post article entitled 'Famous artist/writer missing'. The story began 'NEW YORK, 28 June, 2005. The much anticipated 'Sea Wanderer' Series by famous artist/writer V. Maya never turned up at the GALLERY 6 in New York and it appears the artist herself has failed to contact her family in over 3 weeks. She was due back from a trip to Australia over a month ago where she went for inspiration. Close friends had said she would usually spend months each year travelling and was often a few days late in returning but never without contact. The Sea Wanderer series was supposed to be the artists latest work from her trip to Australia along with her delicate sketches and a diary which were always included in an exhibition'.

Zack read on quite fascinated. She was a young artist who has a list of major achievements including the prestigious New York art prize as well as several notable literary awards for her accompanying novels. The combined work was powerful enough to have Hollywood chasing her but she had resisted claiming it would destroy her art. Her work was a combination of desolate landscape, story telling and a novel diary always accompanied the exhibition. The article spoke about her writing with as much enthusiasm as the art. There was a link to her website which he quickly clicked. He recognised her work immediately from the sketch book he had. It showed stunningly beautiful landscapes from all around the world with hints of emotion. Frail human outlines looking out to sea, eyes filled with tears or drips of blood. It was beautiful. There was no photo of the artist. She was known to be a bit reclusive after her initial success and the following press frenzy. She did however, have a diary page that was categorised into places travelled. Zack clicked on it and quickly scanned down to Australia and hit the icon. She had arrived in Australia in February this year and had some journal entries. After a brief stay in Alice Springs were she had marvelled at the landscape and aboriginal art she seemed intent on following the path of the convicts. The entries stopped when she got back to Sydney in April.

Zack decided to print out a few of the pieces he liked and the newspaper article and sleep on it. He was still a bit shaken from the days events. He thought that a person with such fame who travelled to the far reaches of the earth and liked being alone would probably make an easy target for any kind of kidnappers. Her works alone fetched up to $100,000 each and were increasing by the day. He thought the sketch book would be worth enough alone. He jumped into bed but couldn't get the days events out of his mind. He was more concerned about the safety of the artist than anything. He was probably the only one who knew anything. Then he realised he was in possession of the sketch book but nobody knew apart from the old policeman... or did they? It was a little too obscure to comprehend in reality or in Zacks cosy little life.

He flipped through the sketch book one more time admiring the talented drawings. He loved art but found it very frustrating looking at good work. He wanted to immediately draw. It was a strange feeling entering an art gallery. A feeling of awe was followed by questions - how did the artist do this - he would try and picture the layers as the artist painted. He would think about the story behind the piece and how it was conceived. Then utter frustration as he wanted to complete a body of work similar to what he was seeing. He would study one or two works closely then leave in termoil repeating in his mind I have to go and do that, no... i need a theme... just draw. I think thats why he liked lanscapes so much. It took the guess work out of the piece. I just was - a moment in the day, a place and an important memory of that place. The colours, the light... There was no real thought involved. While studying drawing at university he had heard alot of students talking about their inspiration, teachers wanted inspiration. He now realised why. He was more interested in recreating the scene to the best of his ability - somewhat frowned upon. There was a limit to recreation especially when confronted with emotion in art. How do you find emotion? How do artists explore this emotion? It was a question he'd always wanted to explore. Writers and musicians needed emotion. The difficulty he found was portraying this emotion on paper - that was skill. The irony about the sketch book was exactly the quandry he was in as an artist. They were great landscape drawings to the uneducated but to him they were drawn by a person on the edge. They oozed emotion now. He could almost picture the circumstances under which they were drawn. It made them haunting - a little like changing the style of music in a video to go from pieceful to spine tingling.

Salamanca
The next morning before goin gto the police Zack thought he would take he sketch book and his findings in to his friends gallery at salamanca. A part of him was proud to be in possession of such a find and he knew Andrew would kill him if he didn't show it to him before handing it in. Andrew Gillette owned The upper space gallery in salamanca places gallery strip. It was above the renowned long gallery in the giant sandstone buildings. Zack loved going to the gallery if not for the eclectic mix of art and culture, aswell as the countless books and Andrews knowledge of the arts but for the architecture and history of the space. Echoing floorboards and giant exposed beams. The hum of activity from the saturday market below and the beat of south american drums and celebration of the pan pipes from street buskers. It was inspiring. Andrew was in he midst of creating a new piece when zack arrived. he painted large oils on canvas and his latest 'exploration' was salamanca at night. During the day Salamanca was bustling with a famous street market and at night it turned into one of Hobarts night spots. Vibrant cafes and bars lit up the area. Knopwoods the renowned pub overflowed with revellers. Looking at one of Andrews pieces Zack recalled thousands of big nights in the area lining up for one of many many beers. Christmas eve often hosted 5000 people flowing out for a hundred metres each way. New Years Eve was too big down there - most of his friends stayed away. It was every inch 'Hobart'.

Andrew welcomed Zack with open arms - with the usual 'hows big city life treating you, Zackky'. He had lived all over the world including New York and could always make more than a living from anything he did. One of those together people. He loved Tassie the most and believed his art reflected that. He was delighted to see Zack. They were friends from school and the only friends with art in common. Andrew took Zack through his latest work in his usual casual manner. He was a brilliant artist and made Salamanca light up at night with thick oil paint. Zack was amazed with the painting but went through his usual frustrating thought processes. He had some Buena Vista Social Club playing softly in the background and was currently researching some obscure artist on his new G5. So together... Zack thought. After a brief catch up chat the topic changes to the recent events. At first Andrew didn't really catch on but when the sketch book was revealed and the name V.Maya, his eyes grew wide. 'Where did you get this again?' Andrew had spent time up at Little Swanport so it was as much a shock to him. And being Tasmanian he knew where most of the drawing were. After the initial shock, Andrew studied the sketchbook closely. He too admired the drawings and he guessed that the sketch book was worth a substantial amount of money alone. He quickly jumped up remembering an article he'd cut out about the artist. He had a sophisticated filing system and found it along with a couple of recent books published by the artist. They both flicked through them looking for similarities and perhaps clues that would indicate where the artist might be. They noted she had mentioned the path of the convicts and had also mentioned she'd heard of a place called Tasmania that boasted one of the last great untouched World Heritage Areas. Her books were renowned for their conservation stance and that was not suprising seeing he love of wilderness landscapes. Andrew acknowledged she would be a target for any kidnapper as Zack had done and they also assumed the person or persons would have had to have been following her. What they couldn't work out was how she was taken from the beach having been washed up there. They could only assume the person was with her and perhaps sabotaged the journey. On a boat though? They obviously weren't after her work. They speculated for some time . Read through some more articles and admired her work more and more. They decided to go for a wander down to salamanca square and have a coffee. There wasn't alot more they could do before hading the sketch book into police.

Zack was always overwhelmed by the little nooks and crannys hidden in the sandstone building of Salamanca. Each time he visited he found a new space to explore. A new artist. It was traditionally an area for the arts - cheap warehouse space for rent - with cafes and bars used as meeting spots. But as always the mainstream want a piece of the subculture and at a certain point start moving in. Demand creates franchises and developers and all of a sudden the culture is lost. Not many artists could afford to live and work down here anymore. The vast gallery spaces were taken over by souvenir shops and souvlaki bars. Even Salamanca market was changing. It had maintained its vibrancy for sure but had lost some of that raw, earthy feel it used to possess. Zack thought maybe it was because he'd been visiting Salamanca for 25 years... He still loved it although he hadn't actually purchased anything for years. He did think their was a market for his art but maybe not at the prices he charged. He dwelt on this for a while. He loved going to gallleries but thought art should be more accessible. An exhibition seemed so personal for family and friends and for people who knew about art. There had to be a happy medium he thought.

They walked past a few galleries and had a bit of a look. They were mainly watercolours of Tasmania. Tasmania, due to its amazing scenery definately inspired this kind of art both inspired Zack immensely. He was inspired everywhere he went. The walked through lanes, past weavers and welders, past theatres and framers until they reached the open expanse of Salamanca Square. Parts were stunning. There were remnants of the old sandstone buildings and the huge rock wall that was cut to make space for it. Then there was the outlandish new apartments which seem to pop up everywhere round the world. They towered over the square. Zack and Andrew grabbed a coffee at the Machine Cafe, a laundry and cafe combination hidden in the corner of the square. They talked about old times, especially going up the East Coast to the beachhouse. There were a thousand teenage stories that surrounded the place and amazingly it probably overshadowed everything else even thought they only visited for a few days a year. They guest it was probably because they had photos and video of the moments 15 years ago - and it was when they were all together. Probably, apart form a few weddings, the last time they were together. Most of the guys were married now, some with kids, some rennovating, some interstate and overseas. Most of them had lost contact or stayed in touch with the odd email. They talked about their families just to dwell a bit longer. Hobart seemed to encourage thought like that, not more than any other home town he assumed.

After the coffee the talk returned to the missing artist. It was still surreal and in the light of day they both felt it wasn't real. Just another tortured artists gone missing - great for sales, a perfect legacy. If she had been lost at sea then there was not much they could do and exploring the area inhabited by a gunman wasn't really their idea of excitement. Andrew mentioned he'd met an older artist in New York who has recently moved to Tasmania - the ultimate change he'd said. He lived up in Fern Tree at the base of Mt Wellington. Andrew suggested they drive up and see if he could offer any more information.

The drove up Davey Street and through South Hobart past a strip of huge sandstone mansions. Zack thought rather than taking the direct route he'd drive up Macquarie Street and Strickland Avenue past the Cascade Brewery, the start of a few great Mountain bike tracks - and some great scenery. The awesome view of Mt Wellington hung over the Cascade Brewery on a clear day and Zack recalled countless breathless rides trying to conquer old farm road in one go. The road eventually reached the altitude where ferns thrives and giant Tasmanian gum trees stood. Most of them were relatively young due to the bush fire devastation. The area dripped with moisture from streams and small waterfalls. It echoed with animal life. The joined back up with the main road to Fern Tree not long after that and pulled in at the Fern Tree Tavern to pick up some Bourbon for Gordon, Andrews friend. Another 5 minutes drive and they took a left off the main road down a steep, wet rock driveaway. They jumped out of the car and were overwhelmed with the smell of Eucalyptus - enough to cure any cold. Through tiny gaps in the gum trees they could see the southern edge of Mt Wellington. Zack had seen it before and he knew there were no tracks up there. It always reminded him of the drama of a mountain climbing documentary. Onimous. Lost. They were greeted by a friendly but wet black labrador. 'Hey, Scotty', Andrew woofed. Gordon lived alone with Scotty. The house was small but cosy from the outside. Dark, heavily oiled wood with white windows and a green roof. The entrance was subtley decorated in wooden sculptures of mainly birds as well as large pavers and lots of ferns. It looked very well maintained and inviting. Smoke was billowing out the chimney. It was cold in Fern Tree and they were very keen to get inside. Scotty was jumping up and down happily as they heard Gordon coming up the stairs. 'Hey, Andrew - how you doing?'. Gordon was a rather athletic and tanned 50 something with a beard and no hair. He wore overalls covered in paint and his hands were covered in sap green paint. The same green that scotty had on his ear. 'This is my friend and fellow artist, Zack'. 'Hey, Zack', Gordon replied confidently and warmly. 'What are you doing in this neck of the woods. Zack brought out the sketch book as Andrew started to explain the sequence of events. Gordon looked shocked. By mere coincidence he had been contacted by V. Maya only two weeks earlier as she know he lived in Tasmania. He said she was going to be in Hobart 3 weeks from now after sailing down the East Coast to Port Arthur and then round through Dunalley to the D'Entrecasteaux Channel into the Derwent River. They were both shocked as there had been no record of her leaving the mainland of Australia. Gordon invited them inside as it was getting colder, in fact the drizzle had turned into light sleet. Gordons house was warm. Scotty obviously loved being inside as he sprinted around rubbing his head on the rug - looking somewhat guilty. The walked through the entrance past various balinese sculptures. The floor was deep grey slate. The lounge and kitchen areas were all in one big room - alot bigger than Zack had thought - and it was much more modern from the inside. There was a large hexagonal skylight at the highest point of the ceiling that revealed the forest canopy. It didn't seem to let in too much light. The walls were completed covered in all kinds of paintings. From huge 3 metres oils of what looked like Tasmania in cloud to small pencil sketches of intricate leaves and sea birds. It was inspiring work.

Gordon fired up his computer to examine the last couple of emails from V. Maya. At the time he obviously hadn't suspected anything was wrong but he decided to check. 'Hey Gordon, I have just arrived in Alice Springs and the landscape is amazing. I couldn't be further from New York and I'm loving the solitude. The arts culture is also amazing especially the affinity the aboriginal people have with the landscape. It makes me feel like a fraud. I have also learnt about paintings with natural ochres and plan to learn more. I can't writ emuch more as I am afraid this computer may not last but i plan to fly to Sydney soon and then may try to organise to sail to Hobart via Port Arthur. The trip is supposed to be fairly dangerous so we have to time it right. Alternatively I may fly to Flinders Island then get a fishing boat across to Tasmania and hitch down the East Coast. The scenery is supposed to be stunning. Coles Bay has been mentioned. I will see. Hope to see you in Hobart in a few weeks. Will keep in touch. V.M.' It was becoming clearly. V. Maya did exist and was heading to Tasmania. How did her sketch book end up at Little Swanport... ? The next email was from Sydney. She was staying in a small pub in the rocks and was fascinated in that area. She wrote about the sandstone buildings and passage ways. It was like a poem. She didn't want to stay in Sydney long as apart form the rocks area it didn't offer her that raw inspiration she needed. She said she was looking to organise a crew to take her to Hobart but it was difficult. Most yachties only tempted the voyage in the Annual Sydney to Hobart Yacht Race in December. Winter was not a great time to sail due to the southerly busters that blew up for the southern ocean. She spoke of reading abou tthe history of Port Arthur but more about the surrounding lanscape. How Eagle Hawk Neck was such a thin strip of land any escaping convict would have to swim to get away. She was excited. She spoke more about why she was following the convict trail - she was especially interested in a female convict who had ended up in 'Van Diemans Land' Tasmania's original name. She didn't go on. She said she may not be able to email any more but she'd phone once she hit land. The men looked amazed. She was definately somewhere in Tasmania.

Gordon suggested they go for a trip up to his shack at a beach on the south side of the Little Swanport Lagoon over the hill. He thought they might be able to ask a few of the locals whether they saw anything. He said it was out of view of Little Swanport and not accessible from there unless by car which involved driving back out to the highway. They could have a bit of a potter around the lagoon. The other two guys were less than impressed with the idea but thought that if V. Maya was in trouble it might be her only hope. The police had spent so much time searching the area they doubted they would go back - even after the information on the emails.

Gordon took them downstairs to his 'games' room which was full of all the latest toys. A full suspension kona 'mano mano' mountain bike - handy for quick trips to the shop Gordon happily stated. A Bianchi Roadbike. He had a starboard (windsurfer) with a 60 cm fin for up wind tracking aswell as a longboard (an old Mistral Equip) and a couple of old wave boards. He had all the fishing gear known to man. A couple of surf boards. Lots of camping equipment. A kite surfer. It was Zacks dream room. He could touch and tweak for days! It was also his art room. Almost as big as the lounge room the art room had paintings piled up everywhere. It was suprisingly neat apart from stylish Jackson Pollock-like spatters of paint all over the floor. There was a notice board with newspaper clippings of artists, small cut out drawings and photographs. The photographs included a few of Gordon finishing events. He'd been in a few adventure sport style races including 5 day races like the renowned eco-challenge.

They decided to leave the next morning so Zack re booked his flight back to Melbourne for a few days later and went home to pack a few things. It was almost like old times, he thought, as he searched through under his parents house for bits and pieces. He had a lot of old windsurfing gear which had gone unused for 3 years. He had some bushwalking gear which he grabbed and a torch and an old swiss army knife. He then met Andrew at Knoppies for a few beers and a chat. There were always old friends down there and the nights always turned into more than a few beers.

>>

He arrived at Gordons at 7am with his gear. Andrew was putting his windsurfer on the Gordons Landrover. They were pretty much ready to go. The old Landrover was stacked high with windsurfers and had three mountain bikes on the bike rack at the back. Scotty had prime position on top of all the gear in the back. The drive only took two hours which included the madatory Sorell bakery stop. Zack was impressed with the Landrover. A big 4wd was on his list of cars to own during his lifetime but Melbourne probably wasn't the best place to own one.

The turn off to the shack was off the Tasman Highway about 15 kms south of little Swanport along a 5 km single lane gravel road with the usual corregations. The Landrover lapped up the bumps unlike the hire car had. The shack was virtually on the beach just behind the sand dunes. The beach had a good reputation for good waves. As usual Gordons place was perfect. It was a small weatherboard house that Gordon had virtally gutted into one big room. He had even opened it up by taking out the ceiling and exposing the beams. He had just built a plaster partion that was only two metres high to make the room and he had added a few extra windows and two sliding doors to completely open up the house. There was a very large driftwood style dining table with decorative shells in a bowl in the centre. He also had a very light space for his art section which inspired Zack immensely. Outside he had built a wooden deck and partioned a little bbq area off with a bamboo fence. The coastal seabreezes came up just about everyday here so the fence was perfect for shelter. Gordon also had a small shed filled with an old bike, a one design windsurfer (one of the first styles) and a canoe. He had said the previous owners had left them there which was handy. He said on a still morning he would paddle round the headland to the southside of the Little Swanport entrance, catch some waves ot go fishing. They planned to do that as soon as they had unpacked.

Zack felt refreshed at the beach. He felt alive. He loved the smell, the sun and the sand and the infinite possibilities that surrounded being away like this. He took big deep breaths and felt the clean air filling his lungs. He loved being on holidays, away. He hadn't had a proper holiday for the entire year and felt the strains of sitting in the office all day everyday. He almost felt guilty at being able to think outside the office environment and sometimes had to curb his thoughts knowing he would have to go back sooner or later. Just a typical office worker bee he thought.

After they had put the food in the fridge and unpacked the car they had a coffee and Gordon brought out a shipping map of the area. It was actually just a normal map with water depth markings of the area. He knew of a little enclave of small beach houses around on the northern side of the lagoon back towards the highway about 1km. He had paddled up there regularly and often waved and had a chat to an old resident of the area. He suspected he would know something. They prepared the canoe and an older surfski Gordon had thrown on the 4WD and dragged them to the waters edge. Gordon then went back and organised some fishing gear. The entrance to the lagoon was a renowned fishing and surfing spot due to its ferocious tides. He guessed at its fastest it could move a swimmer 100 metres in 5 minutes.

As Zack and Andrew waited for Gordon they looked out across the bay to Freycinet Pennisula. It was the perfect East Coast morning. There was a light northerly blowing, just rippling the water and about half a foot of surf. Not quite enough for body surfing.

Zack remembered the days just up the coast like this. At about this time there would be a hive of activity. Usually the smell of bacon and eggs coming form the house, oh and coffee brewing. Guys coming up from the beach having been for a dive. Others waking up. A few off up the coast looking for waves. U2 playing on the stereo (the only cd up there). The perfect morning.

Gordon came back and they loaded up the canoe with the fishing gear and Scotty who stood happily up the front - even through the light shore break. Zack took the surfski and they paddled out far enough so as to not be affected by the slight swell. He'd never seen the coast from this aspect and especially never rounded the far point from the south. The closest he'd got was windsurfing to a small shack across the entrance in a rare strong easterly breeze.

He'd always loved the water but always had an eery feeling whenever he went out over his head off the coast. The swell was deceivingly large and although not dangerous he sat in awe of it. He'd been out on a small dinghy before in 3 metre swell and they literally disappeared in each trough. A weird feeling. The guy they went out with was very experienced and after catching a few flat head he anchored the boat 2 metres from a point swell and jumped off with his surf board into a wave. Guys surfing were reaching out and touching the dinghy. Madness!

They continued to paddle until they reached the point. It was very calm as they rounded it to see the entrance and the beachhouse to the north. A great perspective, Zack thought, and wished he'd brought his camera. The waves ran for over 100 metres at the entrance - even when small so once they reached the start they could easily cruise in to the beach. They paddled to the shack and small beach that zack had windsurfed too. He was always amazed at how there could be one shack in the area. Its a million dollar spot - easliy and the shack was nothing more than a shed with windows. Scotty jumped out at the small beach and started to run around to the main beach occasionally barking at them as if to say hurry up. They reached the waves and with some difficulty caught one and cruised in.

The tide was going out so they would have to drag the gear over the sand dunes and up the side of the lagoon for a few hundred metres. Scotty met them there and was full of puppy happiness. He obviously loved the sand and the water and dug, jumped and rolled with all the enthusiasm of a dog on holidays. He was no help dragging the canoe and surfski though. They re-entered the lagoon and paddled quickly over the current to the shallow waters near the centre. Their goal was to look like fisherman so they left the surfski on the beach, donned their fishing hats and threw their lines out while still paddling slowly towards olds Berts house. As soon as they had put the lines out they got some bites. Good size sand dwelling flatheads - the usual score. A reasonable eating fish although Zack was a bit over them as they were all he ever caught when fishing with his father. The fridge used to always be full of them. It was beneficial for their 'undercover' operation to be catching lots of fish. They drifted over to the northern side of the lagoon where the water was deeper and darker. It met a gum tree lined bank covered in grass. Up about 30 metres was a run of old fishermans huts that had been done up slightly. They had porches looking out over the lagoon and dark eery windows. You couldn't see in from the lagoon and there was silence apart from the lapping of three dinghys that were tied up along the bank. The trio drifted past and all felt a chill at being so exposed. Zack tried not to look up so as to not being identified from a few days earlier. Gordon was quietly confident that old Bert would be around somewhere and they would have their usual chat about the weather and what was biting. But nothing. They pulled up at the bank and Gordon jumped out and scrambeld up the bank to Berts porch. The lsliding door was adjar and he look back to the others with suspicion.

'Guys, tie the boat up and come up here!" Gordon frantically whispered.

Zack and Andrew tied the boat to an old burnt log and warily climbed the bank. They entered to find old bert being lifted up by Gordon. He was covered in dried blood. There was an empty bottle of whisky by his side and the place stunk of grog and body odour. Old Bert eventually came to and admitted he'd had one too many and must have passed out and hit his head. He looked scared seeing the too younger men but relieved to see Gordon.

'Boy, lucky you guys arrived. I might've never woken up... probably a good thing though i'm not far off being fish food, i'd reckon'.

Gordon went and boiled the kettle and Bert continued his ramble. 'There been a few odd things going on here lately, i thought you guys may have been part of it all. City types turning up at all hours in big cars. Lights and voices in the middle of the night. Even the police round, the buggers. Seen nothing like that in twenty years'. Gordon gave Bert his tea and asked more about the strange occurences. 'Had a few too many to notice much but I can remember a muffled sort of scream one night a few weeks back. Thats really when it started. Three houses down in the rented one. Always music or young hooligans coming and going form that place. Could have just been a party, or at least I thought until I saw a few guys in suits'. He continued.' There was a bit of commotion and a bit of arguing and then I heard a scream and they told her to shut up. I was as quiet as I could be and pretended I was passed out when they walked past. I think they must have had some one there. But there's no on there anymore. All stopped after the police came by'. Gordon stayed with Bert and Andrew and Zack went three houses down to have a look. The houses in the middle were owned by people who just cam up for a weekend or two and over the summer. Winter was a pretty quiet place up here. They looked around for any signs of life and after they had established no one was around they looked for a way to enter the place. It wasn't hard, the sliding door on the porch was old and with a bit of force just opened. It was very must inside but reasonable clean and sparse. The mandatory brown shack couch with cigarette burns in the arms and no springs left. A table and an old tv. They looked for any signs of a struggle but couldn't seem to find anything. There were two bedrooms and a toilet at the back and everything seemed in order. It seemed too neat. They searched for some time but found nothing so the pair walked back round to Berts place. Bert and Gordon were talking fish and as nothing was found they decided to head back to Gordons shack.

It was a fair paddle although they had the advantage of an outgoing tide. The tide proved to be wuite enjoyable to paddle with and they whipped round past the boat ramp and the jetty. Zack got out the back first and decided to catch a few waves on the surfski at the entrance. Ahh, the good old days, he thought. They reached the beach around noon just as the seabreeze had come up. The seabreeze was on shore so after a bite to eat they rigged up the long boards and went back round to the entrance for a bit of long board wave sailing. The entrance was pretty much sheltered from every breeze apart from East and North Easters. The seabreeze was dead easterly but not strong enough to get them going in the waves - hence the long boards. It was like surfing on a malibu with a sail - very cruisy. Zack was on the old one design and as the tide was turning decided to windsurf into the lagoon. He manouvered his way in with quite a few tacks and a few wobbly moments going over the rippled current. The other two guys were on faster boards and they were way out in the open ocean steaming along. Zack was now parellel with the shack they had searched and from the perspective he was on he could see a concrete box under the porch. It was an old weatherboard shack so it seemed wrong. He tied the board up and went up to have another look. It looked like a room had been built under the shack. He went back in and immediately found a trapdoor under the rug. His heart raced. He lifted the door to reveal darkness and the waft of musky, leafy smell rise out of the hole. There was a wooden ladder and a light switch 30 cm down the wall. He backed down then flicked the switch.

The room was quite large, about the same size as the house above. It was littered with old black plant pots and power cords. It looked like a reasonably well set up marijuana growing room. There were no plants just remains. There wouldn't have been room for that many - enough to make a tidy profit but not enough to defend. He then noticed an old rug on the floor and a pillow. Someone had been put down there. He felt cold. His wetsuit and barefeet were probably not the best gear for undercover work. He search quickly. Nothing. Every noise made him jump. He looked in every cupboard, every little nook and cranny. He shook the rug and the pillow case. Just as he was about to leave he noticed a white slip of paper in the pillow case. He scrambled to get it out. It was a note containing a scratchy sketch of a scene he'd seen many times. The Hazards. Coles Bay. The note confirmed she had been there, although the sketch was simple, it contained the confident lines of an experienced artist. He guessed she had been taken to Coles Bay, well it was his only clue. Zack had a further scout around and found nothing. He tried to leave the place as he'd found it and covered up the trapdoor with the rug. He could see he friends windsurfing at the entrance so he took off on the One Design. They all sailed back to the shack viewed the sketch again. After getting changed and grabbing a beer they sit down and view the sketch again.
'Why would they keep moving her?' Andrew pondered. 'They seem to have what they want'.
'Maybe they don't' said Gordon. 'Maybe they are looking for something'.

'It's most likely her drawings' Zack added, 'She usually posts them home doesn't she? But if she's been on a yacht she may not have had a chance. It's the perfect crime really. Intercept the boat. Steal the drawings. Make the boat and the artist disappear. Her art goes up in value as she is feared drowned. Sell it to the black market. They could make millions. It's all coming together now.'

'But she's obviously still alive', Andrew guessed.

'Maybe they haven't found the drawings yet', maybe they are taking her too them. The yacht might be over in Coles Bay somewhere. She may have stashed the paintings, escaped in the dinghy, ended up on the beach and so on'.

>>

The trio pack the Landrover for an over night stay in Coles Bay and lock up. Once leaving Swansea the road heads in land through farmland and wineries. The Coles Bay road was sealed now but Zack recalled many drives along a 30km bumpy gravel road that seemed to take hours - as did all drives when you were young and impatient. The drive was worth it though. After 20 minutes around a sweeping bend The Hazards revealed themselves. Zack likened them to three Ayres Rock like mountains joined togther. The rock was burnt orange. The sky, pale blue and the water was deep aqua. Zack had climbed them many times. They were littered with house size rocks just balancing like mountain protectors ready to roll off at any time. They hid one of Tasmania's best attractions, Wineglass Bay, a perfect winglass shaped bay and beach which turned out to be a 45 minute walk over a rocky saddle between the mountain crop. It was a bit of a hike especially when you needed to carry food and water and gear for the beach. One thing that always took the gloss off the area was the weather. Very rarely did you not require a jumper of some sort. Even in summer the coastal seabreeze penetrated the beach through the wineglass stem and zack often wished there was someway of gettng the windsurfer over.

The Landrover pulled up at the local shop in Coles Bay. It had grown from a shop into a bar/cafe/shopping centre since Zack's last visit. Gordon used his american twang to scope out news of a black mercedes or suited men in the area and sure enough they had arrived a few days ago. The town was talking as suits were rare although mercedes were not. The reports were that the car was parked over at the Hazards carpark and had been there a while. There was a yacht moored over there. The story made sense. The guys jumped back in the car and drove around to the carpark. The Hazards towered above them. Tourists streamed around Coles Bay and the car park was generally full of renta cars and a few buses. The saddle track was generally a little too tough for older people so it was too crowded. The guys saw the dust covered mercedes in the car park and it was at that moment it hit them. What the hell were they going to do if they came face to face with seasoned criminals. They had no idea. They just wanted to identify V.Maya and notify the police. Without seeing her or any real evidence it would still seem like a waste of time to the police especially after Zacks run in.

The trio grabbed their back packs and set off up the rocky track. It was alot easier than Zack had remembered and he thought they must be trying to level it to make the beach accessible to everyone. The reached the top in 15 mins and climbe up to the newish viewing platform. The bay was magnificent as usual. Mt Freycinet stood over the beach like a giant guard. There was no one on the beach at all, possible due to the cold south easterly that was blowing. They could also see a yacht in the far corner sheltered from the breeze by a small rocky out crop. It was a fair effort to get a yacht into the bay just because of the renowned seas. Zack looked through the binoculars, the yacht looked about forty five foot and very solid, very seaworthy. It had gps satelite navigation gear and a solar tower but didn't look too luxurious as to draw attention. There was no sign of life though.

They hurriedly walked down the south side of the track and eventually made it to the beach where they were greeted by the resident wallabies. There was another track that peeled off to the western beach. Almost as spectacular as Wineglass Bay but prone to cold south westerly and westerly winds and another 20 minutes walk. Before they revealed themselves to anybody on the yacht they decided it would be best of they took the other track and then wound back around through the swamp land to the southern side of the beach where the yacht was. There was dense tea tree scrub that would make it easy to stake out the yacht. The walk too them across purpose built walkways and stinky swamp land. Zack remembered three tourists running back past him on one trip after seeing a snake. He didn't. They reached the beach and couldn't believe how another picture post card beach could be deserted, especially that there were no dwellings built - not even a pseudo environmental spa retreat. The going became reasonably hard as they reached the southern end of the western beach and prepared to cross back over to winglass bay. They did their best to miss the swampland although had to wade through a few deep sections. Once they had reached the tea trees they started to get nervous. They motioned to each other to be quiet and crept through the brush. There were a few man made clearances in the tea tree which were designed for campers. There were hundreds of spectacular walks all over the national park and this was a small base. There were no amenties though.

The trio crouched and peered between the dense bush. They were in easy viewing distance of the yacht now and could see some movement through the small windows. It was definately the 'Sea Wanderer'. They all froze. Then a figure opened the hatch an appeared on the deck. And then another. And a third man. There were no suits. They were wearing shorts and t-shirts, obviously trying to look like walkers. Being muscled up with slicked back hair and all having sunglasses on didn't help their disguise. Then Zack saw what they came for. The third man pulled a women out on to the deck. She struggled slightly. Gordon nodded as a conformation it was the artist V.Maya. She wore jeans and a polar fleece blue top. Zack couldn't make her out very well but she was small compared to the three men. One of the men pulled the dinghy that was tied to the yacht up to it and awkwardly stepped in. They shut the hatch and one by one lowered them selves into the dinghy and rowed a shore with the artist. They had no bags. Nothing. The men occasionally yanked at the women as though they were angry. Zack feared for her. She obviously didn't have what they wanted, yet. After a short row they pulled the dinghy up the beach within metres of Gordon, Andrew and Zack who remained frozen. They began the walk back along the beach. The trio looked at each other. They had to get to the yacht without being seen - and they had to do it quickly because the wanted to follow the artist.

After they had disappeared from view up the track, Zack and Andrew gave themselves 20 minutes to get to the boat and back. If the men made it to the lookout and saw figures looking around the boat they would most likely wait. Andrew and Zack ran and swam out to the boat so not as to have to deal with the awkwardly slow dinghy. The water was cold but they hauled themselves up onto the yacht. The hatch was unlocked. They stepped down into yacht and to their horror it was littered with rubbish. Pillows and sleeping bags ripped cupboards emptied. Clothes were strewn all over the place but there was no sign of any drawings. Zack looked for clues as to where they were taking her. He didn't believe they would be as lucky as before but they still looked. They only had about 5 minutes before they had to be back under the cover of the tea trees. They had no luck. There was nothing. The pair dived back in and swam through the amazing clear water. Zack ducked under and the view was similar to a swimming pool. Perfectly blue. No seaweed and no rocks at all. They clambered out of the water and told Gordon the bad news. They realised they had to catch the artist by the carpark so they could follow them and contact the police. They took the direct root along the bach. They believed they would be safe now as they weren't near the yacht. They could just be bushwalkers having come from Mt Freycinet. They walked hurriedly and even ran. They reached the track in no time at all and said good by to the kangaroos. As the track got steeper they past some bushwalkers and enquired on the whereabouts of three men and a women. They hadn't seen them but the next couple had. The seemed concerned as they said the women seemed angry or scared but they didn't want to get involved. They were at least 15 minutes further on. The trio hurried until they reached the saddle. They had to be careful now. They couldn't be seen. They figured they still had to hurry for about 10 minutes and they should be close. They past a few more walkers and reached the tourist booth at the car park in very quick time. As they arrived they saw the Mercedes take off. They quickly jumped in the Landrover and followed.

The Mercedes wound through Coles Bay past the caravan parks and beachouses and stopped at the petrol station. They kept their distance, occasionally laughing as the surreal events caught up with them. 'What the hell are we doing?' was the general consensus voiced by Zack and Andrew simaltaneously.

'So what is the general plan?' Andrew said.

Gordon, with his stern American accent assured the guys that they would stay out of sight till the time was right and then try to kidnap the artist back.

'Why don't we just call the police?' said Andrew. They all looked at each other.

'An anonymous call saying that a black Mercedes was travelling north on the Coles Bay Rd with a kidnapped American artist surely wouldn't hurt, would it?' Andrew said.

'We know she's been taken against her will but with a gun in her back and a solitary country police man questioning them, it may not work, but I guess we should' said Gordon.

Andrew called 000. 'We have reason to believe that an American artist by the name of V. Maya has been kidnapped from a yacht in Wineglass Bay and is in a black Mercedes heading north on the Coles Bay Road'. 'Um, yeah, long story but one of the guys with us recognised her being put into a car in Coles Bay. She looked like she was struggling a bit. Then the car took off'. That is all I can really tell you. I'd prefer not to be involved. Thank you.'
'Well, they know at least'.

Twenty minutes further on the trio reached the Tasman Highway turn off. In the distance the could see the black Merecedes pulling away from a stationery police car. The police car turned and drove off. V.Maya was still in the Mercedes.

'As we suspected' said Gordon. 'What can the police do when V would have been told to smile and be quiet!'.

The Mercedes headed south towards Swansea until it reached a turn off that headed towards the Midland highway, Tasmania's main highway between the too Major cities, Hobart and Launceston.

'Where are they going?' Andrew asked.

They guys had no idea. The road was very flat and surrounded by dry farmland. They had to keep their distance as the occupants of the Mercedes would be well aware someone had seen something.

>>

About an hour later they reached the midlands highway. They had lost the Mercedes. They were in the middle of Tasmania. They decided to stop, refuel and get a drink at Campbell Town. As they sat and chatted Zack remembered seeing a few quick sketches in the sketch book of Cradle Mountain. He had forgotten them. V.Maya obviously hadn't been there yet so may have drawn them from a brochure of Tasmania. It was there only clue. There only shot. They find where she was. Create a diversion, put her in the car and drive.

After their drinks they headed north toward Launceston then Deloraine. Cradle Mountain was in Tasmania's North West a couple of hours drive up windy roads from Deloraine. In winter they could also be covered in snow but were usually cleared. The drive took them through amazing rainforests and mountaineous country. The drove through Mole Creek and Moina, past wonderful names like King Solomons Caves and Daisy Dell. The road up to Cradle Mountain had been cleared but as they got higher dots of snow became piles and the trees became less dense. It was like a moonscape covered in snow. There was a low fog as well which made everything eery. The reached the main lodge and looked around for the Mercedes. No sign. Zack had only been there once before and had stayed in some huts in the National Park about 30 mins walk from Cradle Mountain itself. The locals had seen a Mercedes drive in and the women in the National Park ticket booth confirmed it. They had come through about 1 hour before.

Snow covered the road now but the Land Rover enjoyed the task. He thought the Mercedes may not have liked it so much. They reached a sign directing them to the Waldheim huts and followed it. It was snowing heavily now and the road was covered. Had there hearts not been beating so loud they would have seen a breathtaking land. Winter white, pieceful and still. The road wound down and then up again. The fog prevented them seeing much more than the road in front of them. The road narrowed and Zack informed Gordon that he should pull over and park. The huts are up that track behind Waldheim lodge, a open museum dedicated to a German Explorer, Waldheim. The area was deserted. Without much more than thin polar fleeces the guys jumped out of the car. There were two ways up to the huts. One, via the road which they suspected the Mercedes had taken, although Zack knew it got pretty slippery. They may have had to park down on the lower parking area. He quickly ran up the road out of the huts view and confirmed he suspicions. He came back down and told the guys to take the stairs up past the open museum. They would be out of view pretty much all the way up because the huts formed a square all looking out into a middle square which was a carpark. He knew the area quite well because although he had only been on one trip years ago, they had spent hours having a snowball fight in and around the museum. They progressed slowly but confidently as they were pretty sure they hadn't been identified.

As they reached the museum they heard a car start and quickly ducked inside the hut. They could see, through the trees, the black mercedes plowing back down the road. As it passed the Land Rover they could see two males in it and were pretty sure there was no one in the back. They figured that the one remaining male was at the hut with V. Tackling one professional kidnapper still didn't fill their minds with happiness but they thought it may be easier to lure him out. They figured they didn't have long and that he may be armed so they moved quicky but carefully. The reached the toilet and laundry block and peered around into the empty centre courtyard. The snow was getting heavier which made visibility worse. Very handy. Only one of the hut had smoke coming out of the chimney - a dead giveaway. It was the far one. The one that Zack had stayed in. The difficulty was that they were just one big room inside. Kitchen, lounge and bunk beds all open planned. They surveyed the area and realised a frontal assault was out of the question. They would have no idea whether anyone was looking out the windows at them. Zack knew there were windows at the back but wasn't sure whether they could sneak in. In fact he was sure they couldn't. They doubled back and went round the side. The stepped carefully as they reached the hut. One of the curtains was slightly open and Zack peered in. He could see the whole room clearly. The male was sitting near the fire with his back to him. V was asleep in a bunk up to his right. He looked a little longer. Her eye opened and she saw him. She jolted up but then quietly looked around at the male. He put his finger to his lips and motioned her to be quiet. Then he disappeared out of view. He turned to the others and whispered that she was in there. And at that moment a plan came to him. They had to be quick. He remembered the flock of giant ravens that had turned toilet trips in to a a frantic frozen dash. They all lived in a tree above the wood hut on the other side of the courtyard. They could use the crows as a distraction. They continued round the huts and reached the end one. Zack doubled back and went down to the car to retrieve a bag of uneaten chips. He was quick. There was still no sign of the Mercedes, and he guested that the snow would be too deep now to drive back up to the hut. He started throwing the chips into the centre of the coutryard. The ravens were ready and waiting. One by one they flew down. He threw them closer to the door of the cabin. There were at least 20 diving down now. They stayed on the ground and waited for more chips. They sqwarked and carried on. They were landing on the doormat now. Zack whispered his plan to the guys. He would go back round to the window and get V to jump through when the male came out to investigate the noise. As soon as he went back in they would have to be quick. Zack and V would run round the cabins and down past the museum to the car. Gordon and Andrew would run down the road. All out of view from the hut.

The ravens got louder, chips landed on the window sill and they started pecking on the cabin. Zack was round at the window and had V's attention. The door opened. Andrew and Gordon hid. V jumped out of bed in a flash, put a pillow under the doona and left her beanie on the pillow so it looked like she was there. It may buy them some time. She was through the windown quickly and they were running. They heard the door shut but but didn't look back. They all met at the car and jumped in and drove as fast as they could. Just as they rounded the first corner on their way back to the National Park booth, they passed the black Mercedes, in fact they almost ran it off the road. They all tried to keep their heads down. They knew that the absence of V would be discovered very soon and the men would certainly have mobiles. In fact as Gordon looked in the rearvision mirror he cursed. 'Looks like we hae company'. They all looked back and saw the Mercedes spinning around obviously to chase. To their delight however the snow had become thicker and as they were travelling up hill slightly the Mercedes wheels just skidded. 'Keep you heads down' yelled Gordon. Gun shots glanced off the Land Rover. The roared up the hill out of sight. The last thing they saw was the men kicking the car. They had bought a few hours. Enough time to get a sizable distance ahead.

As they passed the National Park booth they kept their heads down. They did not want to raise suspicion. They reached the main road which and Gordon switched back to two wheel drive. They were away.

V was overwhelmed. The first thing she had said to Gordon was 'What took you so long??!!'. They all laughed but could see she was still terrified. Gordon briefly explained how Zack had found the notebook on a deserted beach and became suspicious. He explained how he had been contacted and they had found the drawings at Little Swanport and on the yacht which had led them here. They were dying to know what had happened.

>>

V began to expain. She had chartered a yacht and a crew from Sydney. The trip was smooth which was apparently very rare for the east coast of Australia and Tasmania in winter. The perilous journey across Bass Strait was also smooth and relatively fast. They had stopped off at Flinders Island and St Helens which were just beautiful she explained. She had taken hundreds of photos and sketched the area. She only realised something was up when they came closer to Coles Bay. The crew became panicky. Something was not right. She thought it was bad weather coming. They rounded Schouten Island and were intercepted by a small speed boat. Three large men jumped on board and shot the crew in a matter of seconds. They threw the bodies below the deck and motored towards Coles Bay. Two on the yacht, one in the speed boat. They moored the yacht in Coles Bay and tied V up with the bodies and left. She said that she managed to kick the dinghy over the side, grab her notebook behind her back and jump in hoping she would drift into shore. She drifted out of the bay and further south towards the open Ocean. Having wrestled her hands free she realised she had no chance of swimming to shore or paddling the dinghy in so she sketched her position and fell asleep. She woke hours later. She had been caught. She was in the speed boat in an inlet near shacks. It must have been Little Swanport. She was dumped in a cellar and left having no idea why any of this had happened. She knew she had achieved some fame but only in the Northern Hemisphere. Not in Australia.

As she finished the first part of the story she drifted off to sleep in the back of the Land Rover. They were closing in on the midlands Highway now on their way to Hobart. They chose Hobart as it was over 300km south and the men chasing would have no idea as it was the furthest larger city from them.

Gordon, Andrew and Zack all looked at each other. 'Wow' Zack sighed. Í don't know whether to be scared, excited or relieved.' The others agreed. They weren't sure whether they should deliver V to the police station or organise to get her straight out of the country. The police may look for the kidnappers but fail. They were pro's. The story seemed far fetched. Hell, they didn't even have the full story which they were dying to know. How? Why? They would know more when V woke up and they were sure she would reveal whether she wanted the police involved.

They arrived at the midlands highway turnoff and upped the pace. If they could average just over the speed limit they were sure they would not be caught. They had around two hours to Hobart. It was a well driven highway with rolling green hills and farmland all the way. Solitary trees and sheep were popular. To the west, in the distance, they could see the snow capped central plateau.

V did not wake until they hit there first set of traffic lights in Brighton one of the far northern suburbs of Hobart. She seemed startled but upon realising she was safe for now she drifted back off to sleep. They drove across the Bridgewater Bridge with magificent views of the North Western side of Mt Wellington. They drove on deciding to set up a bed for V at Gordons place. They would sleep on the decision as to what to do and hopefully V would agree.

The traffic in Hobart wasn't too bad as they drove along the Brooker highway. Zack always felt like he was home when they reached the scenic Hobart waterfront that was shadowed by the Hotel Grand Chancellor. The fishing boats, with their bright colours reflected off the still water. Muirs restaurant was always busy with small vans, fisherman and customers. The historic Jam Factory that had been turned into the Tasmanian School of Art brought back calm memories. The view up to Mt Wellington was the most spectacular sight. He looked up with a sense of pride. They drove straight up Davey Street and up towards Gordons place. The sun was shining and the organ pipes on Mt Wellington were in view. He rolled down the window and smelled the cool clean air. He thought to himself that they had done well. No one had been seen and he doubted the kidnappers would some to Hobart. He hoped they would just throw in the towel.

Scotty was the first out of the car at Gordons and he raced to the water bowl. Andrew softly woke V and they all unpacked the car. Gordon went around the side of the house to gather wood for the fire and the others went in and collapsed on the couches. 'What a day' Andrew sighed.

The fire started and Gordon arranged coffees for everyone. They were dying to know V's story. She looked pale and tired. But was keen to tell let continue the story where she had left it. She recapped he journey up to the shack and said she was dumped in a cellar at Little Swanport. Zack said 'Yeah, thats where I found the drawing of Coles Bay'. She actually said she was so scared she didn't want to write anything in case they found it. She thought she would just draw where whe'd heard they were going and let th epolice work it out. She honestly did expect to be found so in a way the drawing were to help her relax.

She continued saying that she spent a few days in the cellar. She could here the water lapping in the near lagoon and the distance sound of the waves at the entrance. They also calmed her. She heard the odd motor boat and a few far off voices but had no way of communicating with anyone.

It was on day two that she found out why she was there. The kidnappers wanted finished original artwork. They knew she painted on her trips and thought what better way to steal expensive artwork than get it fresh from the artist. Andrew commented that he thought it was quite ingenious. 'Why didn't they make you do some quick sketches for them, they would be worth a fair bit?' 'Well, V said, I think that may have been their plan'. I told them I had sent some work back to New York from Sydney but it wasn't much - and unfortunately I was intent on painting from photos once I returned home. I was going to work on a few ideas once I'd reached Hobart and well, Gordons. I'd heard it is a very arty city and I often need that inspiration. She said the kidnappers weren't happy at all. I lied and said I 'd left some on the boat and sent some to a friend at Cradle Mountain. I wasn't even sure were Cradle Mountain was. I'd just seen pictures. I lied in order to get them moving. To at least have a chance of escape.

'I still can't believe they kidnapped you for your art and they were going to make you paint. In a warped way I guess it is quite an ingenious plan. I always thought to myself, imagine if i'd been Picassos friend and just got him to do a few throw away sketches and kept them, they'd be worth millions. You'd have to die first though'.

'That was what I was worried about' V admitted. 'i'll definately never be a Picasso but I guess my art is quite popular at the moment - just a trend though, at least while i'm alive.'

'So what happened then...' Andrew asked.

'Well I had realised they didn't have my sketchbook. I'd remembered stashing it in the dinghy in a plastic bag so it would get wet just in case it did get found. I must have passed out. The men seemed like they had done this sort of thing before so as soon as I had mentioned paintings on the yacht they had arranged to take me there. They had sailed it round to Wineglass bay so it wouldn't look suspicious in Coles Bay. The occupants often leave their boats there for days while they bush walk. In Coles Bay someone might have recognised it. They also must have dumped the crew out to sea. They planned it well.

'If someone had taken the boat round there surely they would have looked for your art?' Zack queried.

'Seeing as though there wasn't any art on the boat, they must have believed me when I said it was hidden. They did belt the guy who looked. I couldn't think straight locked in that cellar. It was all I could do to get out. Each stop we made on the trip I looked for moment to slip away. The shops at Coles Bay. The Wineglass Bay carpark. I tried to look scared as I passed tourists on the walk but there was no chance. We arrived at the boat and after a search they realised I was lying. They needed me though. They had nothing. I told them about Cradle Mountain and they just got angry but had to drive me there. The police even stopped us but I was warned not to say a thing.'

'Yeah, that was us', Andrew said. 'To be honest we thought involving the police may have been a bad move but we had to give it a go. We couldn't exactly run the car off the road. We actually drove past you at that point. We had to try and get back behind you and if it wasn't for Zack remembering about the Cradle Mountain picture we would have been stuffed'.

'All I could do was just smile at the police. They probably wouldn't have been much of a match for those guys anyway. So we kept driving and it was getting dark as we got entered the National Park up there. We grabbed the nearest accomodation and I said I had never been to my friends lodge so we would have to look the next day. It was all a lie but they bought it. The next day I made up a story about the lodge. Two of them went off to see if they could find it. That's when you guys turned up. Thank God'.

'What a trip, huh!?', Zack said. 'I guess you won't be travelling alone for a while'.

'Nature inspires me so much, and I often need to be by myself to experience it properly, and especially to draw' V sighed.

'So what are you going to do?' Andrew asked. 'I mean we can help'.

'I don't want to miss out on seeing Hobart, I'm not going to let these people stop me after all it is so far from New York. I just need a few days to recover then a few days to experience it's beauty. Then I 'll think about leaving. I'm pretty shaken up but the chances of these guys finding me is pretty small. I guess the airport is the only place they'll know i'll eventually go.'

>>

The next few days proved to be exactly what V wanted and kind of expected of Hobart, from Gordons email descriptions. They spent alot of time at Andrews Gallery discussing art and their influences. V met alot of local artists and business owners, although they tried to keep fairly low key. Zack spent alot of time with V. Andrew had a gallery to run and Gordon had to go and clean up the shack.

V was delighted with her experience in Hobart and its surrounds. She was amazed at its beauty and how close everthing was. 'Its like the model of my perfect town' she said. 'Just as Gordon had described'.

They drove down to the Huon Valley and took photos, drank wine and ate local produce while V took landscape photos at every opportunity. They visited 'very laid back' friends of Zack as V described them. 'Everyone is so interesting, has amazing hobbies and are so fit' V was amazed.

They explored the misty mountain on bikes and were engulfed by eucalyptus smells, gushing waterfalls and giant gum trees. She was fascinated by the mountain and it's surrounds and even studied maps of Mt Wellington. The names intrigued her.
'Snake Plains and Lost World, Octopus Tree and Devils Gulch, Ice House Ruins, Rocky Whelans Caves and Ploughed Field. The names combined with the haunting surrounding must tell a story' she wondered. 'Who was Rocky Whelan?, why Devils Gulch? She wanted to visit each area and gain a sense of how the names came about. She wanted to paint her next series and base it on the Mountain. They rode and trekked and only occasionly did they pass a lone bushwalker. Always polite. V was amazed at the area at the summit and over the back of Mount Wellington. It was a literal moonscape. Mt Wellington was only 10 minutes drive from Hobart and its remoteness was neglible on a world scale but that made it more accessible to all kinds of traveller. It was full of wonderful stories of escaped convicts or icy survival tales.

V found that she was totally enthralled by the area. She explained to Zack how her fascination with places such as this had made her want to paint but she also felt the need to write. She felt a painting needed a story, she didn't want the story to be left up to the viewer. In the same way a movie was too easy to decipher. The escape of a novel with images to guide the readers thoughts. She had obviously hit a nerve with an audience and reviewers somewhere with her popularity and prizes but hadn't quite got the idea straight in her own mind. It was a wonderful challenge and one she relished.

Her time in Hobart was nearly up. She had emailed relatives and friends just to briefly say she was fine. She had to go back to New York soon to keep her business contacts happy. It had been a while since she had made any sort of public appearance and her contacts were concerned. Although worried about the kidnappers, she was very happy about her new project and thought it was just what the New York art scene needed - eery mountain landscapes - Tasmania.

She spoke in depth to Zack about writing a new novel about her experience in Australia. A lost soul in a lost land. She spoke about finding a connection with desolate places and she didn't know why. New York was the last place she should be living. She put it down to being emotional when she was alone. Emotional to the point of loneliness. But painting replaced that loneliness with achievement. Having something to show others. Trying to convey to the viewer her own emotions. She was still sturggling to put her thoughts into words to convey to Zack however he seemed to understand being an artist himself. He explained that he moved to Melbourne for work but in the back of his mind he also knew that it was held one of Australia's largest arts communities. He wasn't necessarily looking for success but he wanted to see, learn and explore. He also wanted feedback to see where he stood. He couldn't work out why he painted, for himself or for others. He admitted he struggled for subject matter in Melbourne for the first few years because he felt connected to Tasmania. Melbourne was merely a big expanse of roads and buildings. Even the coast seemed uninteresting in comparison. He also admitted he felt closer to his family back in Tasmania when he painted and received feedback. He said he also felt a range of strange emotions whilst going through the whole process of painting. Heightened emotion. Almost obsession, highs and lows. They also spoke about the thrill of seeing all their paintings in a gallery surrounded by people and comment. Zack had somewhat less experience but both agreed they wanted to pause that moment when a few sold and the word got round. The thrill of that moment outweighed the feeling of loss afterwards when the art was gone.

On the day before V was due to leave, they all met down at Andrew's Salamanca Gallery. They searched more of the nooks and crannies in and around Salamanca. They wandered over to the 'Art Hotel' and the Tasmanian School of Art where Andrew did some tutoring. V was amazed at the building and commented how it had the best view of any Art School in the world.

It was a fresh but sunny winters day in Hobart as usual. As they wandered back past Mures Restaurant Zack quizzed V and Gordon about how they made decisions with the direction of their next works. Gordon said he liked reading about and trying new techniques in sculpture but also revealed he just tried to challenge himself on each piece. His painting was much different. He admitted even at his age he was still trying to just 'make the bloody thing look right'. He laughed. 'I don't often admit that Zack'. V laughed too. She was much more of a natural talent and used to draw peoples portraits to make money on the streets of New York. She said originally she had to make up 'series' in her head. She said it was always just an ongoing process. She would take as many photos as possible around New York and just work and work and work. When she travelled for the first time it got easier. She said she took time to gain a sense of the different culture and it's people and tried to portray that without being stereotypical.

They wandered around past Parliament Gardens, back along Salamanca to Knopwoods. Gordon was keen on his first stout of the day. The day was cold but sunny, 'a bit fresh' as most locals would call it. Perfect for a beer and an open fire at Knopwoods. They grabbed a table inside and Gordon got the first round. Zack continued his questioning about researching you're own artwork. Gordon was particularly good at deciphering his own thoughts as an artist. 'When it comes down to it Zack you just have to make your own decisions. I'm not talking about starting from scratch but using what you know you like and building on it, or in some cases jumping headfirst into areas you know nothing about and challenging yourself.' He continued 'Write a list of why you like the art you do. What aspects do you most enjoy and why. What emotions do you feel when you paint and how do you feel about your subject matter'. He said 'this way you can build on it. You can delve in to the reasons you paint and use this information to elaborate and research. It'll open your mind'.
V agreed. She said she enjoyed painting scenes of places that she'd visited but she felt they were often emotionless when she finished. She had to spend some time in a place to, and excuse the cliche, see the real country. 'What I mean is my spin on my visit, whether its stereotypical or not only by spending time visiting different areas and researching them, getting a feel for them can you start. And starting is only the beginning. From simple sketches to detailed drawings, you can then peel back the elements and start to see what you have learned.'

Gordon continued 'It's pretty much similar to life, you have to keep striving to learn. Researching, trying, failing until you reach the next level of knowledge in your own mind and then you start again. That's when you start to inspire others. It makes you focussed. It makes you interested and interesting. If we all just sat back and waited for things to come to us then we wouldn't get anywhere.

The beers flowed and the talk became more in depth, more inspiring and a little bit silly.

They were all interested to hear about the New York art scene and celebrity meetings. V brushed it off. None of it is real. I have to remain down to earth or it would eat me up. I try to stay away from it. Thats why I travel too.

Zacks phone rang and he had to wander outside to hear who was calling. It was his parents who were just seeing how things were. They were due back in a few days and he had to return to Melbourne soon. It all hit home when he realised. Back to work soon he thought. As he turned the corner to go back into the pub he saw a black mercedes pull into a park 50 metres down Salamanca Place. He waited nervously until his fears were confirmed. It was the three men and they were walking towards the pub.