A Whole New World Out There

A Whole New World Out There – My First Ocean Race and My First Bass Strait

In the dead of night 60-70 boats were converging silently onto Queenscliff…. It was as if we were afraid of waking up the citizen of Melbourne so we were whispering and keeping quite still while working the boat. Knowing that other boats and other people known to me were about somewhere on the water gave a strange sense of comradeship. I was drinking in all the sights and reading the lights as newly taught to me during the TL3 Power Boat Course, as well as forever looking up at the stars and the nearly-full moon. We tied up and all went below to rest, awaiting the start. I was impressed how everyone was very quick at bunking down perhaps like a trained soldier. I kept very very still but my heart was racing, being part of the race crew and doing the race routine was just so overwhelmingly important to me.

Then the silence broke… Over the radio came “Wind Song, Wind Song, This is Chardonnay, Chardonnay, ….”

Woww, the names yachties give their boats – I think the radio calls reverberated in my head for the next few weeks!

Someone called (I can’t remember who to whom) “…where are you moored, over”

“…., …, this is …. We are anchored at the start line”

Some sleepy head on our boat grunted “Idiot!! You’re not allowed!”

“All yachts for the Western Port Race, This is Yoko, Yoko, standing by for crew changes on 73.” Being my first ocean race I didn’t understand what Yoko had to do with running the race.

“Yoko, Yoko, This is ---, ---. We’d like to report crew changes please”

“ ---, This is Yoko. We’d like crew changes too but they all signed on!!” That’s yachtie humour in the dead of night.

The roll call, which would have been so mundane for others, was absolutely thrilling for me. In a calm and serious voice each boat was called in turn. “Magazan 53 Magazan 53 This is Yoko Yoko Are you a starter.” “Yoko This is Magazan 53. We are a starter.” Then I remembered to breath again.

Time. Everyone was up, all hands. 0315 hrs. Spinnaker start. I thought ‘This is it, this is it, we are racing, I am racing!’ I felt confident and silently proud that I had done my part of laying all the sheets and braces and tweakers and double checking triple checking so it would go smoothly as far as that was concerned. Signals went, we started like a dream. Silently we slid through the dreaded heads, the water as flat as mill pond. Well, that wasn’t exciting enough, was it! A bit of an anti climax after all the scare and caution drummed into our heads from the TL3 course.

Then we were OUT THERE! Well, just a little bit out with the comfort of hugging the coastline. But it was a whole new world for me. It was thrilling to see all those lighthouses ‘from the sea’. The water was different. The air was fresh and crisp and different. The feeling of the oneness of the team was strength to my soul. This race was just a mild challenge for others so the connectedness was tenuous. But it was a big deal, a very big deal for me at the time. My happiness bubbled over and I shared it with the stars…

And the moon. The moon! How strange and unexpected it was to be seriously racing and at the same time bathing in this moonshine. It was a clear night and the moon sailed across the sky on its own rhumb line. I had been watching the moon and its reflection on the water and staring at the stars ever since leaving Brighton Marina. Now the moon was setting behind us.

And the sun was rising ahead of us. The eastern sky blushed pink and intensified.

I was watching this moonset sunrise while flying the spinnaker from near the mast. No one was on the winch to help me and I should have asked, as I was struggling but trying my best. Except that I was a bit distracted turning aft to check how the moon reflection on the water was going, then forward to see how piercing bright the sun was becoming and upwards to count how may stars have left the contest. Oops! the spinnaker!

It was a bright and warm morning. We soon passed another waypoint and dropped the spinnaker. Even just sitting on the rail I was thrilled. Well, it was just like a lot of the pictures of yacht races I had seen and drooled over before to be part of and now I was in the picture!!

Yoko was cutting the bow wave impressively from behind us on the port side. She looked solid and silently powerful and beautiful, the headsail was full rigged from the top of the mast and looked sort of turbo-charged. There was no petrol, no engine, no other sound except the swishing and the unforgettable bow waves. She was passing us. And that was another strange thing about yacht races, we couldn’t do anything, no revving, no extra pounding of the muscles, we just placed the boat in the hands of the wind and sat there watching someone passing us, just like that. It was like watching fate, watching the inevitable.

I waved to someone I knew on Yoko. Now he was a competitor and passing us. I couldn’t stand it.

Now Yoko went further ahead and out on our starboard side. We kept good speed closer to land and kept pace with her for a long time. Passing another waypoint and we were beating into the wind so things got more exciting. Another boat was attempting to overtake us and skipper got us to fully hang out on the rail. We picked up speed and lost them. That was a great lesson for me but what I couldn’t understand was why we weren’t doing that all the way or at least more times.

The wind picked up inside Western Port. We had to change sail. The headsail got stuck in its track and Skipper ordered, “Cut the sail!” As the foredeck’s knife did its merciless bidding I learnt another practical lesson: Although always treating sails as treasure, power centre and life preserving instrument, when the decision is to cut it, cut it, cut it quick!

To these days the missing 2 inches tell me tales… A memory from my first ocean race.

Beating hard into the wind on our last leg Skipper taught us how to sleep at the rail with our heads and arms stuck out under the top rail and belly buttons hooked on. So we had a row of babies warm and snug and cosy inside our wet gear putting our weight to good use. I was ever so amazed. Here we were seriously racing and seriously sleeping on the job!

I had that conscience weighing on my mind and found myself waking up with a start, yelling out even before fully awake “Would you like me to take my turn at the winch?” I was very happy when I was on duty.

With the wind on our tail most of the way and barely over 20 knots, from memory, and relatively flat sea it was an easy race. Also one of our owners /skippers, Nick, prepared us well with extensive pre-race briefing document so we all knew exactly what we needed to know. As a newbie I was on a winch as a headsail trimmer and there was not much to do most of the way.

Then my first ocean race was over. Pack up time. I asked why we wouldn’t leave everything set up as we would be leaving the next day. I was told to always pack up and just as well because we ended up leaving in a hurry by train and not getting back for another week.

Having never been to Hastings marina before I was trailing someone to get to the bar. Only that he walked into a male toilet! I later found out that the bar was to the opposite direction.

Then it was breakfast time. As a vegetarian, or fishgetarian, as well as non-dairy and non-alcohol and non-tea/coffee (yes, some people had asked ‘do you eat anything?’) I had declared that on a race I shall have no fuss about food whatsoever, so I was sitting there eating dripping bacon and spit roast and cheese. Someone remarked “You’re struggling. Not enjoying it, are you. Don’t eat it” I simply said “I must”. It seems like my life is full of this ‘I must’. I wonder how many vegetarians are there and whether they could be catered for. I heard tales of wild parties and hints of what yachties get up to but there was no hint of any wildness. I was having a marvellous time talking quietly with friends and in between meals talking with a crewmate about his cave diving trips. I visited Yoko and was duly impressed. On deck it seemed huge and the spinnaker pole was nearly three times our size. It was relatively massive inside with an ensuite! Woww! That was eye opening for me. I guess it was built for Osaka and other transoceans; I don’t have the facts, just being impressed by its solid feel. I was in awe and appreciated being invited or allowed inside, so Thank you Yoko (the competitor!)

We had a great time eating out with Reckless, they were a fun bunch and the two skippers enjoyed trading insults. Back to the boat one of our team (unidentified hereinafter forever) announced “if anyone tells my wife that I chuck out the sandwiches I’ll kill you.”

Going back by train we were offered a lift by Santa Claus, a very kindly person I do not know but would like to acknowledge your kindly act here. I was bowled over by the fact that the train ticket from Hastings to Bentleigh was just $3.80!!

When we went back a week after on a taxi-van it was like $25 each. The trip was uneventful as the wind did tricks with us, changing direction each time we changed direction so we were always head to wind and ended up motor sailing all the way. The ocean swells were pretty large, or so I was told as I had no prior experience to compare them with. A surprising event was when I went below just to fetch my phone to take a photo my brother requested I came up immediately sick (I was told then that I put the patch on too late, should be something like 8 hours before). But when one of the owners/skippers Gary, who was always kind and caring, offered me to helm I was instantly happy and did not want to let go until I was literally dozing off.

Back at home my sailing gear took over the laundry and ever since has taken over the lounge room. Now come to think of it, it is taking over my life…

So far, since I had it easy, YES, ocean racing was for me. The next challenge was Bass Strait!

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