Episode 2 A Whole New Whole Out There –Stanley

“Admit it! You want to go to Stanley, don’t you. Don’t even answer! Look at you. You are pissed off because you didn’t put your name down, and whose fault was it. Now are you going or not!!”

Sometimes it takes someone else yelling at you to clear your head. I remember feeling and almost seeing my own face light up and my eyes shining at the thought of what it would be like sailing Stanley. I was at that time on standby and someone was possibly dropping out but possibly not. So I was vacillating between some anxiety if I were to race ‘Bass Strait’ and sheer frustration if I could not, and just about going into sour grapes of who cares about Stanley anyway. Unfortunately (or fortunately as it turned out!!) the person did not drop out. Would it be worth flying down and sailing back? Now there was no question. Booked the ticket and went.

As everyone would have heard or experienced, the weather that evening was atrocious. I, on land in comfy bed, could not sleep hardly at all as I tracked the time and imagined vividly what my comrades would have been going through. The next morning Ian the Commodore ORCV very kindly gave me a lift both at the Melbourne end and from Burnie to Stanley. I met with him earlier, but that was another tale how the three of us from RBYC sailed to Williamstown to arrive in style for the Hastings presentation night and on the way back had a hard time reefing the sail in strong wind and gusts and crawled home after midnight. One of the owners/skippers said -Next time I had such a brilliant idea please just throw me overboard.

I volunteered to help Ian and Dennis manage the race. We got to the fishing boat, to be used as our committee boat, and the first challenge struck. There was no radio.

The fishing boat owner had swapped his old set for a new one and it did not have the frequency range that we needed. The lady in charge of Port Authority got busy on the phone and soon the very helpful fisherman reinstalled the radio set for us.

So, now we have radio.

Next challenge, the beer ordered to welcome yachties had not been delivered and were not coming, ever. Impending disaster. No beer!

A bit of grumbling and running around, eventually stacks of replacement beer were procured. Well, my mama never raised me to be working with strange men stacking cartons of beer at the back of a bar. She would be turning in her grave but I would always pitch in doing what ever needs to be done. So, R.I.P. mum.

Now we have beer.

1400 hrs radio sched. My boat! My crew mates! Also other boats with people I knew. It was so good hearing their voices checking in and they were not even my relations. It was tangible evidence that all was well. Plotting positions was real fun, thanks to my TL3 training at Elwood I understood what was going on and could help. We could see the spread of the race, we were predicting arrival times from the first boat to the last and that was when Ian and Dennis sighed knowing a long night with no sleep awaited them.

Now, wouldn’t a little bit of music be good for the poor souls. Came the fisherman. He fiddled with a few wires and tapped at the set and the speakers. Hey – Presto.

Now we had music. This was now getting a bit cosy.

I was promptly assigned to help a local able body, I think his name was Peter –my memory about names is not good, to welcome yachties with beer as they arrived, plus I was to deputise a committee member and collect race declaration forms. The local able body was given a hand-held radio so he could be advised from the fishing boat when each boat was arriving. As it turned out he was running around fixing other problems and was not to be found. So now we had Beer girl, no radio.

The first boat was to arrive several hours ahead of the pack. It was such a build up of excitement waiting to suddenly see it from behind The Nut. Where are they? Where are they? Could you see it yet? What’s keeping them? When I suggested that the committee post be set up on top of The Nut so you could see the fleet arriving I was met with intense glare and in synchrony they said “YOU go up!” Well, you must appreciate that the race management team often miss out on any kind of partying as well as sleep and I wonder whether anybody ever thank them. In fact I never knew that a Commodore was supposed to slave away like that.

Silently the top of a mast appeared behind the wall. Soon we could see the whole boat, no fanfare, no announcement, no sound. Kontrol had arrived, looking majestic, elegant and a proud leader of the fleet.

Other boats arrived and at times together in a bunch, rafting up several boats deep. Beer girl had to climb these vertical ladders at very low tide carrying beer and traversed back and forth and back and forth across decks and riggings to get to every boat. I had to yell out asking for their declaration forms and here’s the confession: I didn’t know what the blessed form was and had never seen one in my life. Most times in drizzles, I stuffed these mysterious forms into my zipped pocket. When I pulled out these scrunched up pieces of paper to give to Commodore on the pier with wind and rain twirling around us I had a vision of them flying out of my hands like white doves and me getting hung drawn and quartered and slowly roasted over camp fire.

Most yachties were absolutely sodden, wetter than wet, miserable looking, wind blown, and had a frozen-and-thawed look about them. I tried to dole out encouragement about beer, bar, camp fires, food, shower…

Then I saw a very shiny pair of eyes, through the slit of yellow hood and storm cuffs and muffs and heavy wet gear looking straight up from metres below. This was one of the very few people I knew and was looking out for but in my busy-ness never noticed them arriving. There was mention of the rough seas and the chundering and about ocean racing “… I might give it away.” What?! This was the same person yelling at me about racing Stanley.

I heard second-hand report that a boat had hit rocks. Having no details (remember Beer girl did not have a radio) was quite stressful, as I did not know if it was my boat or not. Sheltering on board hospitable Yoko sipping hot water made by the kindly owner/skipper as he served out coffee and tea and food to his dream team, I popped my head out now and again to check for boat arriving and soon spotted Magazan 53. After having served all other boats I had at that moment no access to beer and went empty handed to my own team. There was also the-boat-that-hit-rocks and the fishing boat that pulled them off. Such a relief and joy for me to see my team I figuratively danced about them, only that they were too weary and grumpy to say much.

I was very kindly offered a spare bed in a cottage and also another boat had a spare bunk but I wanted to be with my team so I ended up ‘trying to’ sleep on top of a pile of soggy, lumpy, slopey bags of sails right near the toilet. Soon I gave up and got up, as it was dryer and more comfortable standing.

Breakfast. Now that was definitely a highlight. I reckon that the two things most welcoming at the finish line are a shower and a big hearty breakfast the morning after. Ok, ok, alright, the bar as well then…

Soon I saw a sight to behold. The whole marina had turned into a field of very bright and very colourful cloth lines. The brave and amazing and battle weary yachties had hung out their gear, including socks, which apparently sometimes had some meaning to it. Unfortunately the photo taken by my camera phone did not turn out. Perhaps Santa will bring me a waterproof camera this Christmas.

We went up the Nut. The chairlift was kind to weary legs and the views were magnificent. Our boat held a tradition that we enjoyed ourselves at the destination and never unduly hurried back. Then we had another big hearty meal for lunch. Practically having no sleep for two nights took its toll and during some lively lunch conversation I was caught nodding off. So off I went for a nap, in the boat, woww! What novelty, would not swap it for a palace bed ever. And never mind not helping with shopping for supplies, I apologised later.

Then it was another big hearty dinner. You’d have thought that yacht racing would be a physically demanding sport that you would lose weight and girth but it seemed it had the opposite effect. Over dinner we voted about the time to leave and ended up with 0300 hrs, or thereabouts – I now forgot, to aim for slack waters both at Western Port and Port Phillips. Then a realisation…

“sh…t, the patch” I just wanted to make sure I had the life preserving goo applied early enough. We dashed back to the boat and while I was still fumbling around as I liked to dress nearly in full gear ready for work the other seasoned sailors took just minutes and they were all bunked and blinked out.

Whereas I was never much interested in steering I had several hours at the helm and was absolutely thrilled. Felt like I didn’t want to do anything else forever. Reckon I’ll be a treasure as the only non-drinker on board with a boat license. An absolutely unforgettable sight was a pair of dolphins escorting us swimming alongside and doing their synchronised gliding through the air. The real thing! And in moonlight!

Of note, it seemed that the patch and/or the tablets I took at the same time (yes, I was loaded) had an effect on the eyesight well into 24 hours after I got home.

The next challenge is Melbourne Hobart. Again I am on standby and a little apprehensive whether I would race if a spot became available or wait till next year. A déjà vu when the loud voice came “WHY NOT!!!” I replied “Well, even YOU didn’t like Stanley!” The prompt comeback “I did like Stanley AFTERWARDS.”

So far, and I have had it easy, YES, ocean racing is for me. Still a wide-eyed wonder.

by Solo Thesailor
http://sailingstoriesandtips.blogspot.com