Scarborough, Queensland, Australia

Just a year ago the crew of Northern Magic celebrated its first Christmas away from home, nestled in the warm waters of Florida. Behind us was a furious frenzy of preparation: ahead of us - the whole world.

Since then we’ve swum with giant turtles, frolicked with sea lions, been hugged by stingrays and watched the spouting of whales. We’ve seen mysterious dazzling white birds hover around our boat all night, guarding us like angels against the darkness. We’ve sung to dolphins as they played in our bow wave, and marveled at a single school of fish as they swam valiantly under our stern for 400 miles without faltering.

We have watched the majesty and beauty of this amazing world, from quiet golden mornings to the brilliant, violent beauty of wind slapping against wave.

We have walked on coral reefs at night, leaving a trail of phosphorescence glittering in our footprints. We have picked wild mangoes by the dozen. We have swum amidst sharks and penguins, and watched the glorious great frigatebird swoop down gracefully to pluck its evening meal from the water. We have watched falling stars from an open cockpit, alone in the middle of the great ocean.

We have seen how small we are.

We have gone for weeks without seeing land, or any other visible sign that humans inhabit this planet. We have seen roaring winds and foaming waves strong enough to break the backbone of an insignificant little boat like ours. We have come face to face with the awesome forces of nature. We have been confronted with death. We have learned to love life.

We have also learned to love people. When I think of the places we have been in the past year, I can’t separate them from images of the special friends we have made there. In Cuba: sweet Merita, gentle and proud. I smile to think of how, despite the language and cultural barriers that divided us, our motherhood united us in joy and understanding. We’ve since received a letter from Merita, telling us how her children are enjoying the bicycles we left for them, reminding us of our promise to visit again in ten years.

In Fatu Hiva, the Marquesas, I think of Eddy, a ten year old boy who was our constant companion in his little village. Smiling Eddy, whose little sister made me a necklace of seeds and shells and whose father carved a beautiful bone pendant as a gift for Jonathan. Eddy’s good-bye present for us was a home-made piece of tapa cloth, beautifully painted with a traditional design.

On the island of Tahuata, I think of Delphine, the grandmother whose broad arms embraced us and loaded us down with fresh fruit from her garden. We, who had just struggled for 23 days across the ocean, devoured her succulent gifts like starving men.

For us, Tahiti is Ambrose, the handsome young singer who showed us the wonders of his dream-like island. I will never forget how, standing at the foot of the waterfalls that are sacred to his people, he led his singing group in glorious song, with us as his only audience.

Palmerston. How could we ever forget Palmerston, the island that treated us like visiting kings. Six year old Christopher often says that if his Dad and I ever die, he will go back to Palmerston and loving Metua will take care of him. How could we think about that beautiful, isolated island paradise and not think about her?

In Niue, everyone was our friend. Not a car passed without a salutation, or a person without a greeting. Our arms grew weary from waving. ‘are you from the yacht?’ they all asked, as if we were from the royal yacht britannia.

Tonga was generous Petiola, the wood carver’s wife, who made us honoured guests at her niece’s wedding and spent her few precious dollars to offer us bread on the floor of her bare little home. The wonderful carvings we purchased from her have now been shipped back to Ottawa, but some day we will gaze upon those fierce tiki faces and think only of Petiola’s gentle, smiling one.

Fiji, a land where bloodthirsty cannibals struck terror into peoples’ hearts only 100 years ago, was for us the friendliest land of all. The Kumars with their open arms and colourful stall at the fruit market, always stuffing a few more plums or papayas into our bags, and Joe and Kasa, patiently preparing a feast in their backyard oven, will always be our memories of Suva.

The people of Ono island who welcomed us into their simple village life gave us a glimpse of the other side of Fiji. With a smile, I remember Kimi, our host, warning us against climbing the hill above the village. This hill, which is the ancestral home of his people, is still inhabited by the spirits of his forefathers and they don’t like to be disturbed. Only last year a woman went up the forbidden mountain to collect firewood, and till today her left leg remains crippled. ‘Please don’t go up there,’ he told us earnestly, ‘I don’t want anything bad to happen to you. As long as you are in this village you are my responsibility.’

Women weaving with palm leaves, men drinking Kava out of coconut shells, on Ono island we were transported back to another century.

Now we’re in Australia, back in our own time. Though we’ve been here but a short while, our lives have already been made richer by the genuine welcome we have received from our new Australian friends. Steve and Melissa, the happy newlyweds who have opened their home and their hearts to us, will always represent the safe haven that Australia became, at a time when we badly needed friendship and healing.

A year ago I wrote of the many people whose help, support and love made our voyage possible. This year our thoughts again turn gratefully to them, except the list is even longer.

When we got to Australia, one of our first goals was to check out our brand new internet site, put together by some enthusiastic Citizen readers. My brother, Steve, had left a message on the site that he felt closer to me now than he had when we both lived in Canada.

The closeness Steve referred to is one of the miracles that has happened in the past year. My Calgary family, especially my sister and my father, have very much become a part of our voyage. Linda, awesomely talented and over-endowed in the loving department, handles all the practical details of our trip, coordinates our communications, handles our finances and is our chief ground support system. And my father, with his generous gifts of much needed boat equipment, his unfailing daily e-mails offering weather advice, news from home and simple human support, is the unseen seventh crew member on Northern Magic.

That a voyage which has taken us 22,000 kilometres away from home could have brought our family so much closer together is truly a miracle.

The other miracle is you.

We don’t get a lot of feedback about our dispatches, and one can’t help but wonder from time to time if people like reading them, or if they are in fact noticed at all. I have tried to portray us honestly, through both our ups and downs, but you never know whether the things that seem fascinating to us are equally interesting to people back home in Canada.

Then a day comes when a stranger walks up to your boat and dumps 600 envelopes in your lap, letters from people you’ve never met, people who care about you and who have taken the time and trouble to send you words of support.

As Herbert and I, helped by the two older children, began opening your letters and discovered how many of you consider yourselves our friends, tears sprang into our eyes and began rolling down our cheeks. We started reading and we couldn’t stop until we had read every last one. I don’t have the words to express how much each and every one of these letters means to us. So I hope you will consider this your thank you instead.

We had a pretty rough last few weeks clawing our way to Australia and even after we arrived, we felt badly shaken up by the news that the storms we faced had claimed the lives of others and destroyed the boats of people we knew. As thrilled as we were to have finally reached safety, a sense of trauma clung onto us that was hard to shake off.

But to receive more than 600 cards, every one containing a personal message of love and support - the impact of this goes beyond words. In one day, you have transported us from the bottom of a dark crevasse to the top of a shining mountain.

Thank you, dear friends, for the best Christmas present we could ever receive.