The next three miles were the most critical of all. They included the
'watershed', whose length and depth were doubtful; they included,
too, the crux of the whole passage, a spot where the channel forks,
our own branch continuing west, and another branch diverging from it
north-westward. We must row against time, and yet we must negotiate
that crux. Add to this that the current was against us till the
watershed was crossed; that the tide was just at its most baffling
stage, too low to allow us to risk short cuts, and too high to give
definition to the banks of the channel; and that the compass was no
aid whatever for the minor bends. 'Time's up,' said Davies, and on we
went. I was hugging the comfortable thought that we should now have
booms on our starboard for the whole distance; on our starboard, I
say, for experience had taught us that all channels running parallel
with the coast and islands were uniformly boomed on the northern
side. Anyone less confident than Davies would have succumbed to the
temptation of slavishly relying on these marks, creeping from one to
the other, and wasting precious time. But Davies knew our friend the
'boom' and his eccentricities too well; and preferred to trust to his
sense of touch, which no fog in the world could impair. If we
happened to sight one, well and good, we should know which side of
the channel we were on. But even this contingent advantage he
deliberately sacrificed after a short distance, for he crossed over
to the _south_ or unboomed side and steered and sounded along it,
using the ltzendorf Flat as his handrail, so to speak. He was
compelled to do this, he told me afterwards, in view of the crux,
where the converging lines of booms would have involved us in
irremediable confusion. Our branch was the southern one, and it
followed that we must use the southern bank, and defer obtaining any
help from booms until sure we were past that critical spot.