My father once commented that my mother was like Imelda Marcos. Thankfully, he was referring to a love of shoes, rather than a penchant for dictators and a bad dye job! So when fellow sailors give me a cheeky grin and ask what boat I'll be sailing next week, I smile politely and explain that, while some women have a thing for shoes, 'I have a thing for trailer-sailers'.
But just quietly, I think my 'thing' is a little out of control. I stopped to do the maths the other day; I have owned 8 sailboats in the last 7 years. And I have loved every single one of them ...in the beginning! But invariably I've always felt the urge to go 'shopping' again, and convinced myself that it makes sense to upgrade/downgrade/move sideways to a new boat (well, a different, old boat).
It wouldn't be so bad if, over the last 7 years and 8 boats, I had amassed hundreds of hours of sea time and become a gun sailor...but I haven't. Or if I had managed to make a little bit of money each time I bought and sold a boat...but I haven't! In fact, the opposite is normally true - just don't tell my husband.
I blame the tanned and sprightly looking woman with grey hair whom I saw disembark from a large keel boat at Muddy Creek Marina in Maryborough, Queensland, about 20 years ago. She looked so fit and healthy - peaceful, yet radiating energy - and I started to fantasise about what it would be like to be so self-reliant and resilient; to live on the water and work with nature on a daily basis.
But the dream was out of reach at that point in time, and over the years remained out of reach for various reasons - non-sailing partner, work, children, money - the normal things. As well as the fact that I knew next to nothing about sailing!
But then I discovered the world of trailer sailers - including their affordability and availability - and realised that I could have a smaller version of the dream ...the rest, as they say, is history.
In my quiet moments, I do wonder if it is an abstract concept/lifestyle I am in love with, rather than the real nitty gritty of sailing (does that make me an abstract sailor?)!. But when a lengthy amount of time has passed without me getting on the water, hoisting the sails and hearing the chuckle of water past the hull, - and I can think of nothing but getting back out there - I know that my love of sailing is genuine. I'm just still looking for my perfect boat!
At the time of writing I am without a sail boat for the first time in 7 years.You know what that means don't you? It's time to go shopping! ;-)
Sunday, November 22, 2015
Sunday, July 6, 2014
1998 Sydney to Hobart Yacht Race
It's hard to believe that nearly 16 years have passed since the race that claimed six lives and injured many others. I remember being on holidays in Noosa, Queensland, and following events online with a sense of disbelief. There was snow in the mountains around our home in Victoria in the middle of summer, and sailors were dying in Bass Strait during a yacht race, two days after Christmas.
There has been a plethora of books written about the 1998 Sydney to Hobart Yacht Race, the most deadly in the history of international offshore racing. Written from a variety of perspectives and for a range of reasons, I would like to mention two in particular that, for me, are stand outs. And while they couldn't be more different in style and substance, they are linked in an unusual and special way.
An Extreme Event, Debbie Whitmont
Debbie Whitmont was a journalist with the ABC when she first came into contact with race survivors. She was researching a documentary about the tragedy for Four Corners, which aired in February 1999. Many months later, she was still moved and fascinated by the events that transpired over the Tasman Sea, when Mother nature unleashed her fury on 115 yachts and 1135 largely unsuspecting sailors. This book is the result.
Unlike other books written about the yacht race, this one is not written by a sailor. Instead, Debbie uses her professional investigative skills and masterful writing to synthesise first person accounts in a suspenseful and chilling recount of the storm and its aftermath. There is also the history of the race, the personal stories of rescuers and, in a second edition, a chapter on the coronial inquiry and its findings.
This book is a page turner, with a sense of urgency that cannot be denied. Every chapter begins with a quote from either a sailor, rescuer, race organiser or a member of a sailor's family. It's riveting and compelling.
Like the storm, the story builds to its inevitable conclusion. Yet Debbie's focus on the lessons that can be learned, and her sensitive decision not to focus on the personal tragedies of race victims, leaves the reader with a sense of hope that such tragedies can be avoided in the sport in future.
"It's a chance for an ordinary person to do something great. It's Everyman's Mountain.'
Rob Matthews, Helmsman, Business Post Naiad
Cruel wind : Business Post Naiad and the 1998 Sydney to Hobart Yacht Race disaster / Robert Matthews with Julian Burgess.
Did you pick it up? That's right; the quote I left you with from Debbie Whitmont's book is from the author of my other favourite race account. Debbie also wrote the foreword for Rob's book. In reseaching her own account, she formed the opinion that, should Rob ever decide to record his experience and observations, it would be the ultimate account of the tragedy, and she's right.
Of the six people that lost their lives in the 1998 Sydney To Hobart, two of them were on Rob's boat, Business Post Naiad. Skipper Bruce Guy, and crewman Phil Skeggs, died when the yacht rolled. Bruce Guy suffered a fatal heart attack and Phil Skeggs drowned.
Of all the stories to come out of the race, the experience of those aboard Naiad is potentially one of the most heartbreaking because there is the strong sense that the loss of life could have been avoided. There were issues in race management and communications that were later dissected in the coronial inquiry. Suffice to say here, Naiad's Mayday was somehow downgraded when it shouldn't have been and rescue resources, already badly stretched, were diverted to other, less urgent, matters.
One of the most compelling factors about this book is Rob Guy's complete honesty about the toll the race took on him and his family. While the rest of the world moved on, life for Rob changed irrevocably. He shares his journey of healing with the reader. Without giving too much away, it was a privilege to be able to 'witness' his return to sailing and his eventual coming to terms with the fragility of life.
It's hard to believe that nearly 16 years have passed since the race that claimed six lives and injured many others. I remember being on holidays in Noosa, Queensland, and following events online with a sense of disbelief. There was snow in the mountains around our home in Victoria in the middle of summer, and sailors were dying in Bass Strait during a yacht race, two days after Christmas.
There has been a plethora of books written about the 1998 Sydney to Hobart Yacht Race, the most deadly in the history of international offshore racing. Written from a variety of perspectives and for a range of reasons, I would like to mention two in particular that, for me, are stand outs. And while they couldn't be more different in style and substance, they are linked in an unusual and special way.
An Extreme Event, Debbie Whitmont
Debbie Whitmont was a journalist with the ABC when she first came into contact with race survivors. She was researching a documentary about the tragedy for Four Corners, which aired in February 1999. Many months later, she was still moved and fascinated by the events that transpired over the Tasman Sea, when Mother nature unleashed her fury on 115 yachts and 1135 largely unsuspecting sailors. This book is the result.
Unlike other books written about the yacht race, this one is not written by a sailor. Instead, Debbie uses her professional investigative skills and masterful writing to synthesise first person accounts in a suspenseful and chilling recount of the storm and its aftermath. There is also the history of the race, the personal stories of rescuers and, in a second edition, a chapter on the coronial inquiry and its findings.
This book is a page turner, with a sense of urgency that cannot be denied. Every chapter begins with a quote from either a sailor, rescuer, race organiser or a member of a sailor's family. It's riveting and compelling.
Like the storm, the story builds to its inevitable conclusion. Yet Debbie's focus on the lessons that can be learned, and her sensitive decision not to focus on the personal tragedies of race victims, leaves the reader with a sense of hope that such tragedies can be avoided in the sport in future.
"It's a chance for an ordinary person to do something great. It's Everyman's Mountain.'
Rob Matthews, Helmsman, Business Post Naiad
Cruel wind : Business Post Naiad and the 1998 Sydney to Hobart Yacht Race disaster / Robert Matthews with Julian Burgess.
Did you pick it up? That's right; the quote I left you with from Debbie Whitmont's book is from the author of my other favourite race account. Debbie also wrote the foreword for Rob's book. In reseaching her own account, she formed the opinion that, should Rob ever decide to record his experience and observations, it would be the ultimate account of the tragedy, and she's right.
Of the six people that lost their lives in the 1998 Sydney To Hobart, two of them were on Rob's boat, Business Post Naiad. Skipper Bruce Guy, and crewman Phil Skeggs, died when the yacht rolled. Bruce Guy suffered a fatal heart attack and Phil Skeggs drowned.
Of all the stories to come out of the race, the experience of those aboard Naiad is potentially one of the most heartbreaking because there is the strong sense that the loss of life could have been avoided. There were issues in race management and communications that were later dissected in the coronial inquiry. Suffice to say here, Naiad's Mayday was somehow downgraded when it shouldn't have been and rescue resources, already badly stretched, were diverted to other, less urgent, matters.
One of the most compelling factors about this book is Rob Guy's complete honesty about the toll the race took on him and his family. While the rest of the world moved on, life for Rob changed irrevocably. He shares his journey of healing with the reader. Without giving too much away, it was a privilege to be able to 'witness' his return to sailing and his eventual coming to terms with the fragility of life.
Thursday, June 21, 2012
Housework!
Can anyone tell me why 'housework' when living on a boat is actually a relaxing, pleasant way to pass the time (you know, tidying up, dishes, washing the decks), but at home it is one of my most loathed activities, and hence my house right now looks like.... well, you don't want to know!
I even had good intentions today ...I dropped my little boy off at school and thought to myself, 'Right, that's a whole six hours that I can spend cleaning, organising, rearranging - my house is going to be sooooo clean and tidy!'
And yet here I am...an hour later, nothing done! I know... five hours is still plenty of time for me to have an impact on this hovel, and yet ...my urge to clean has dissipated somewhat!
I blame all of you... well, the few of you that have been kind enough recently to leave comments. :-) You've distracted me with your thoughts and blogs...and amazing photos Jack and Jude! (If you want to know what I'm talking about, check out www.jackandjude.com .I've downloaded some of their pics from their screensaver section and now I'm really distracted!)
I think there's only one solution that's practical - I'll have to live on a boat full time. Now if I can just convince hubby and seven year old .... wish me luck!
I even had good intentions today ...I dropped my little boy off at school and thought to myself, 'Right, that's a whole six hours that I can spend cleaning, organising, rearranging - my house is going to be sooooo clean and tidy!'
And yet here I am...an hour later, nothing done! I know... five hours is still plenty of time for me to have an impact on this hovel, and yet ...my urge to clean has dissipated somewhat!
I blame all of you... well, the few of you that have been kind enough recently to leave comments. :-) You've distracted me with your thoughts and blogs...and amazing photos Jack and Jude! (If you want to know what I'm talking about, check out www.jackandjude.com .I've downloaded some of their pics from their screensaver section and now I'm really distracted!)
I think there's only one solution that's practical - I'll have to live on a boat full time. Now if I can just convince hubby and seven year old .... wish me luck!
Sunday, June 10, 2012
Why I love sailing ...
I haven't been able to go sailing for a while...life keeps getting in the way. I'm missing it desperately, which gave me cause to wonder what it is about sailing that I love so much ...
In a nutshell, it's the peace. Not just the stillness that nature provides, but the mental peace that comes from being completely absorbed in the moment, with no room in my mind for anything else. Whether I'm watching the sails and considering my next 'tweak', listening to the rush of water under the hull, or scrabbling - crablike - across the cabin roof to untangle a jib sheet, I am always fully in the present and focused on the task at hand.
Mental health experts suggest we only use around 10% of our brain in conscious thinking, but even that's enough to get us into trouble apparently! Hence the massive industry that's grown up around positive thinking and other cognitive therapies; the most recent incarnation being 'mindfulness', where participants are taught a range of techniques to keep them focused on the present moment, rather than dwelling on the past or worrying about the future.
It makes sense. Our cave dwelling ancestors had to live 'in the moment' or risk being eaten by a mammoth, clubbed on the head by an unfriendly (or possibly over-friendly!) neighbor, or starving to death.
Our modern, streamlined existence has given us more time to worry about the little things, to our mental detriment. So, if you're in need of some cerebral relief, pick up a book on mindfulness, book a session with a cognitive therapist (they don't like to be called shrinks) or ... go for sail!
And please ...take me with you!
In a nutshell, it's the peace. Not just the stillness that nature provides, but the mental peace that comes from being completely absorbed in the moment, with no room in my mind for anything else. Whether I'm watching the sails and considering my next 'tweak', listening to the rush of water under the hull, or scrabbling - crablike - across the cabin roof to untangle a jib sheet, I am always fully in the present and focused on the task at hand.
Mental health experts suggest we only use around 10% of our brain in conscious thinking, but even that's enough to get us into trouble apparently! Hence the massive industry that's grown up around positive thinking and other cognitive therapies; the most recent incarnation being 'mindfulness', where participants are taught a range of techniques to keep them focused on the present moment, rather than dwelling on the past or worrying about the future.
It makes sense. Our cave dwelling ancestors had to live 'in the moment' or risk being eaten by a mammoth, clubbed on the head by an unfriendly (or possibly over-friendly!) neighbor, or starving to death.
Our modern, streamlined existence has given us more time to worry about the little things, to our mental detriment. So, if you're in need of some cerebral relief, pick up a book on mindfulness, book a session with a cognitive therapist (they don't like to be called shrinks) or ... go for sail!
And please ...take me with you!
Friday, March 30, 2012
Solitaire Spirit
There's something about the journey of self discovery in a circumnavigation that is compelling to read about. It is diluted somewhat by the publicity requirements imposed by sponsors; think Jessica Watson.
But imagine if someone just decided, off the cuff, to sail around the world?
Les Powles did - with only eight hours of sailing experience!
This is a great book. Les and his self-built boat, Solitude, are true partners. He talks to his boat regularly, and displays an intuitive understanding of the sea and the art of sailing. (I've used the word art deliberately here, rather than craft. I was delighted to find the owner of one of my favourite sailing quotes appear in this book: Webb Chiles - check my last blog to read his quote and all will become clear!)
Les Powles is a real character. Of limited budget and unlimited humour, imagine his surprise when, on his first voyage, he lands in Brazil instead of the Caribbean - a mere 1000 miles off course!
I laughed out loud at some of his recollections. On one occasion, after being alone at sea for a considerable period, he meets another boat and greets them standing on the bow of Solitude with a nine iron in his hand. The visitors ask him for directions. His response is that he can't help them because 'he hasn't played this course before'. Needless to say, the occupants of the other boat thank him somewhat hesitantly as they change direction to head away from Solitude and her somewhat eccentric skipper.
Les started sailing in his fifties and has been around the world three times now. At the time of writing the book he was 86 and living permanently on his boat in Lymington Yacht Haven, England. I would love to drop by for a cuppa and a chat.
But imagine if someone just decided, off the cuff, to sail around the world?
Les Powles did - with only eight hours of sailing experience!
This is a great book. Les and his self-built boat, Solitude, are true partners. He talks to his boat regularly, and displays an intuitive understanding of the sea and the art of sailing. (I've used the word art deliberately here, rather than craft. I was delighted to find the owner of one of my favourite sailing quotes appear in this book: Webb Chiles - check my last blog to read his quote and all will become clear!)
Les Powles is a real character. Of limited budget and unlimited humour, imagine his surprise when, on his first voyage, he lands in Brazil instead of the Caribbean - a mere 1000 miles off course!
I laughed out loud at some of his recollections. On one occasion, after being alone at sea for a considerable period, he meets another boat and greets them standing on the bow of Solitude with a nine iron in his hand. The visitors ask him for directions. His response is that he can't help them because 'he hasn't played this course before'. Needless to say, the occupants of the other boat thank him somewhat hesitantly as they change direction to head away from Solitude and her somewhat eccentric skipper.
Les started sailing in his fifties and has been around the world three times now. At the time of writing the book he was 86 and living permanently on his boat in Lymington Yacht Haven, England. I would love to drop by for a cuppa and a chat.
Tuesday, March 13, 2012
2012 APC Logistics Marlay Point Overnight Yacht Race
The weekend just past saw the running of the 44th annual Marlay Point Overnight Yacht Race on the Gippsland Lakes in Victoria, Australia. Here's my reflection on the race, as shared on another forum.
This was my first MPONR as a committee member; my third as a competitor; my first with my family. Entries were down by about 30 boats with 132 entries in the end, with some unable to get through flood waters and others busy with other commitments, or swayed by lack of time, money or wind. But despite the smaller numbers, there was an amazing vibe at Marlay Point on the Friday and Saturday, as competitors and spectators gathered for the 44th MPONR. Perhaps word had got out that the current from the flooding Avon River would keep us moving through the Straits, even without wind...
5-8 knots for the start and an amazing big orange moon that was soon blanketed by clouds. We were into the Straits by about 11:30pm on our Ultimate 18. We being my husband Steve (stink boater) and my seven year old son. It was so quiet in the Straits, with boats spread out and no wind to speak of. And yet we glided on through. Ran aground once about half way through when the current sucked us into shore. And then a miracle happened...
Second mate (husband Steve) refused to make his Skipper a coffee (and subsequently also refused to walk the plank or be keel hauled), so Skipper handed over the helm, muttering words of encouragement (not!) to this first time helmsman and went below to make a very strong coffee. Came back up to see stink boat hubby gazing up at the tell tales and 'sniffing the wind'. I sat quitely down to drink my coffee and observe, and watched him helm with a look of quiet contentment on his face. Could my stink boater, non-sailor husband be falling under the spell?
Out into Lake Victoria and I trimmed the sails as hubby continued to helm, adjusting course as needed to keep us on a tight track to Paynesville. Things were working well...I was enjoying being free of the helm and trimming the sheets.
Then the wind changed to downwind. Crumbs, I said to hubby, we should really put the spinnaker up, but I've never done it on my own. Well, give it whirl hon, he said encouragingly. The wind was only light, so I did just that. Seven year old son began to hoist the spinnaker with the halyard while I clipped on the pole and sheets...what a beautiful sight when the sail filled and we scooched off... OMG, I said to husband and son - the Farleys are flying a spinnaker!
Back to the genoa for a tacking duel with some Sunmaids and some Hartley 16's as we headed towards Point Turner, before rounding the point for the run home. Spinnakers again for a nano second before the wind changed (I thought I would fall off the bow with exhaustion); needed hubby to help attach the pole this time. Seven year old took the helm while surrounded by other boats and Mum and Dad were up on deck. Well done kiddo! Proud moment for Mum. Crossed the line on a close reach with about 30 other boats. What a thrill for us.
Such an honour to be a member of the tiny club called LWYC. Such a privillege to be part of the sailing community. Such a joy to sail the MPONR with my family. Such a miracle that my husband appears to have fallen in love with sailing - just don't tell him he has!
Handed in the log to be told by the Commodore that we had come eighteenth on corrected time. Hubby laughed and said 'Imagine what we could have done if we had known what we were doing!'
Imagine indeed...
More information on the race is available here:
http://www.lakewellingtonyachtclub.org/
This was my first MPONR as a committee member; my third as a competitor; my first with my family. Entries were down by about 30 boats with 132 entries in the end, with some unable to get through flood waters and others busy with other commitments, or swayed by lack of time, money or wind. But despite the smaller numbers, there was an amazing vibe at Marlay Point on the Friday and Saturday, as competitors and spectators gathered for the 44th MPONR. Perhaps word had got out that the current from the flooding Avon River would keep us moving through the Straits, even without wind...
5-8 knots for the start and an amazing big orange moon that was soon blanketed by clouds. We were into the Straits by about 11:30pm on our Ultimate 18. We being my husband Steve (stink boater) and my seven year old son. It was so quiet in the Straits, with boats spread out and no wind to speak of. And yet we glided on through. Ran aground once about half way through when the current sucked us into shore. And then a miracle happened...
Second mate (husband Steve) refused to make his Skipper a coffee (and subsequently also refused to walk the plank or be keel hauled), so Skipper handed over the helm, muttering words of encouragement (not!) to this first time helmsman and went below to make a very strong coffee. Came back up to see stink boat hubby gazing up at the tell tales and 'sniffing the wind'. I sat quitely down to drink my coffee and observe, and watched him helm with a look of quiet contentment on his face. Could my stink boater, non-sailor husband be falling under the spell?
Out into Lake Victoria and I trimmed the sails as hubby continued to helm, adjusting course as needed to keep us on a tight track to Paynesville. Things were working well...I was enjoying being free of the helm and trimming the sheets.
Then the wind changed to downwind. Crumbs, I said to hubby, we should really put the spinnaker up, but I've never done it on my own. Well, give it whirl hon, he said encouragingly. The wind was only light, so I did just that. Seven year old son began to hoist the spinnaker with the halyard while I clipped on the pole and sheets...what a beautiful sight when the sail filled and we scooched off... OMG, I said to husband and son - the Farleys are flying a spinnaker!
Back to the genoa for a tacking duel with some Sunmaids and some Hartley 16's as we headed towards Point Turner, before rounding the point for the run home. Spinnakers again for a nano second before the wind changed (I thought I would fall off the bow with exhaustion); needed hubby to help attach the pole this time. Seven year old took the helm while surrounded by other boats and Mum and Dad were up on deck. Well done kiddo! Proud moment for Mum. Crossed the line on a close reach with about 30 other boats. What a thrill for us.
Such an honour to be a member of the tiny club called LWYC. Such a privillege to be part of the sailing community. Such a joy to sail the MPONR with my family. Such a miracle that my husband appears to have fallen in love with sailing - just don't tell him he has!
Handed in the log to be told by the Commodore that we had come eighteenth on corrected time. Hubby laughed and said 'Imagine what we could have done if we had known what we were doing!'
Imagine indeed...
More information on the race is available here:
http://www.lakewellingtonyachtclub.org/
Wednesday, February 29, 2012
Favourite sailing quotes
A sailor is an artist whose medium is the wind-Webb Chiles
Any damn fool can circumnavigate the world sober. It takes a really good sailor to do it drunk - Sir Francis Chichester
I cannot not sail - E.B. White
Sailors, with their built in sense of order, service and discipline, should really be running the world - Nicholas Monsarrat
Sailing is far more a state of mind and heart than it is a method of getting from Point A to Point B - Christopher Caswell
Any damn fool can circumnavigate the world sober. It takes a really good sailor to do it drunk - Sir Francis Chichester
I cannot not sail - E.B. White
Sailors, with their built in sense of order, service and discipline, should really be running the world - Nicholas Monsarrat
Sailing is far more a state of mind and heart than it is a method of getting from Point A to Point B - Christopher Caswell
Saturday, January 7, 2012
Where Pelicans Are
This is a big shout out for local author, Joy Seevers as well as a local icon, the Gippsland Lakes.
'Where Pelicans Are' is the true story of the disappearance of young, professional fisherman, Steven Grassby, who vanished while fishing with his father in Tambo Bay in 1998. In recounting the story of the long search for Steven, Joy tells the stories of Gippslands' lakes and ocean fishermen through the ages, weaving past and present together in dramatic fashion as the search unfolds.
Joy Seevers is Steven's aunt, and a member of the Mitchelson family of Lakes Entrance, who have fished the Gippsland Lakes and Bass Strait for five generations. While her grief is palpable, so is her love for the seafaring livelihood that 'oscillates between tranquility and tragedy'.
If you love the Lakes and want to understand more about their past - ecologically, historically and socially - then this book is a great read. A journo friend of mind described the writing as 'unpolished', but in my mind, that's the beauty of it. The writing is raw and real, like the industry it describes and the lives it honours.
Published by Black Fin books. If you have trouble finding a copy, let me know.
'Where Pelicans Are' is the true story of the disappearance of young, professional fisherman, Steven Grassby, who vanished while fishing with his father in Tambo Bay in 1998. In recounting the story of the long search for Steven, Joy tells the stories of Gippslands' lakes and ocean fishermen through the ages, weaving past and present together in dramatic fashion as the search unfolds.
Joy Seevers is Steven's aunt, and a member of the Mitchelson family of Lakes Entrance, who have fished the Gippsland Lakes and Bass Strait for five generations. While her grief is palpable, so is her love for the seafaring livelihood that 'oscillates between tranquility and tragedy'.
If you love the Lakes and want to understand more about their past - ecologically, historically and socially - then this book is a great read. A journo friend of mind described the writing as 'unpolished', but in my mind, that's the beauty of it. The writing is raw and real, like the industry it describes and the lives it honours.
Published by Black Fin books. If you have trouble finding a copy, let me know.
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
Vanished at Sea
I picked up a $6 book in a newsagent within a Melbourne hospital recently; I was attracted by the picture of the boat on the front cover (go figure!). I kind of wish I hadn't been.
The book is the story of a gruesome true crime, outlining the disappearance of Tom and Jackie Hawkins from their 55 ft trawler, the 'Well Deserved' in November 2004. The boat had been listed for private sale. When Tom and Jackie took 25 year old Skylar Deleon and his friends for a test drive, they were over-powered with stun guns and sent overboard with one of the ships anchors to drown.
The motive? Pure financial gain. Skylar Deleon wanted the boat and assumed, wrongly, that its owners must be rich. They weren't. As the boat name suggests, they had scrimped and save for years and then sold their home to follow a lifelong dream to go cruising. The birth of their first grandchild had convinced them to take up life as landlubbers again, putting the boat on the market in Newport Beach, California.
Today, Skylar Deleon remains on death row in Orange County, USA, after painstaking efforts by Newport police and family and friends of the Hawks to get justice for the couple. Their bodies were never recovered.
There is no lesson to be learned here; no 'moral to the story', unless you decide it is best to trust no-one in life, which would be a sad thing. Jackie and Tom Hawks were tragic victims of a sociopath.
Mind you, after reading this, I'd think twice about taking strangers for a ride on your boat...
The book is the story of a gruesome true crime, outlining the disappearance of Tom and Jackie Hawkins from their 55 ft trawler, the 'Well Deserved' in November 2004. The boat had been listed for private sale. When Tom and Jackie took 25 year old Skylar Deleon and his friends for a test drive, they were over-powered with stun guns and sent overboard with one of the ships anchors to drown.
The motive? Pure financial gain. Skylar Deleon wanted the boat and assumed, wrongly, that its owners must be rich. They weren't. As the boat name suggests, they had scrimped and save for years and then sold their home to follow a lifelong dream to go cruising. The birth of their first grandchild had convinced them to take up life as landlubbers again, putting the boat on the market in Newport Beach, California.
Today, Skylar Deleon remains on death row in Orange County, USA, after painstaking efforts by Newport police and family and friends of the Hawks to get justice for the couple. Their bodies were never recovered.
There is no lesson to be learned here; no 'moral to the story', unless you decide it is best to trust no-one in life, which would be a sad thing. Jackie and Tom Hawks were tragic victims of a sociopath.
Mind you, after reading this, I'd think twice about taking strangers for a ride on your boat...
Wednesday, November 2, 2011
What are the attributes of a great sailor?
Peter Nichols book, 'A Voyage for Madmen', tells the individual stories of each of the nine men who set out on the inaugural Golden Globe, Singlehanded Around the World Race in 1968: a race which only one competitor would finish.
Early in the book, Nichols discusses 'the Ulysses Factor', as mooted by JRL Anderson in his book of the same name. Nichols describes Anderson's 'lone hero' as having 'a powerful drive made up of imagination, self-discipline, selfishness, endurance, fear, courage and, perhaps most of all, social instability...a genetic instinct in all of us but dormant in most.'
I was fascinated by this, particularly when he went on to explain 'part of the attraction of these loners is that they invariably look and sound normal; they look like us (I don't know about you, I'm seeing Jessica Watson right now and thinking, OK, she looks like an average kid). They're usually modest when asked how they survived their terrible ordeals (yep, check, she was), they readily admit their fear (yep again), and in doing so they fool the rest of us into thinking that they are like us - or more accurately, that we could be like them. They become our idealized selves, and so they take us with them, in a way, when they climb Mount Everest or sail around Cape Horn'.
Well, Jessica Watson certainly took a lot of people with her, as evidenced by her blog and the thousands who lined up to greet her upon her triumphant return to Sydney.
So...are the characteristics described by Anderson and Nichols - imagination, self-discipline, selfishness, endurance, fear, courage and social instability - the same characteristics that make a great sailor in general?
I'd be interested in what other sailors think! Perhaps we can disregard the 'social instability' part, as I think it may be in reference to the capacity to walk away from one's everyday life for an unknown period of time, which most weekend sailors don't have to do! So let's just stick with imagination, self-discipline, selfishness, endurance, fear and courage.
Is anything missing from the list? Anything you want to argue shouldn't be there?
I would like to add 'intuitive' to the list - when an understanding of the wind and the effect it is having on the sails and the boat in general becomes truly intuitive, then surely a sailor has reached a level of mastery that many others can only aspire to?
That's what I'm aiming for; a better personal handicap be damned...I want to be intuitive!
Chay Blyth, now one of the world's sailing legends, had never sailed before he set out to race around the world in that infamous 1968 race. He followed a friend's boat to the start line, copying every move made by his mate! Yet his explanation of why he attempted the race is simple and profound and cements his 'lone hero' status ...
Early in the book, Nichols discusses 'the Ulysses Factor', as mooted by JRL Anderson in his book of the same name. Nichols describes Anderson's 'lone hero' as having 'a powerful drive made up of imagination, self-discipline, selfishness, endurance, fear, courage and, perhaps most of all, social instability...a genetic instinct in all of us but dormant in most.'
I was fascinated by this, particularly when he went on to explain 'part of the attraction of these loners is that they invariably look and sound normal; they look like us (I don't know about you, I'm seeing Jessica Watson right now and thinking, OK, she looks like an average kid). They're usually modest when asked how they survived their terrible ordeals (yep, check, she was), they readily admit their fear (yep again), and in doing so they fool the rest of us into thinking that they are like us - or more accurately, that we could be like them. They become our idealized selves, and so they take us with them, in a way, when they climb Mount Everest or sail around Cape Horn'.
Well, Jessica Watson certainly took a lot of people with her, as evidenced by her blog and the thousands who lined up to greet her upon her triumphant return to Sydney.
So...are the characteristics described by Anderson and Nichols - imagination, self-discipline, selfishness, endurance, fear, courage and social instability - the same characteristics that make a great sailor in general?
I'd be interested in what other sailors think! Perhaps we can disregard the 'social instability' part, as I think it may be in reference to the capacity to walk away from one's everyday life for an unknown period of time, which most weekend sailors don't have to do! So let's just stick with imagination, self-discipline, selfishness, endurance, fear and courage.
Is anything missing from the list? Anything you want to argue shouldn't be there?
I would like to add 'intuitive' to the list - when an understanding of the wind and the effect it is having on the sails and the boat in general becomes truly intuitive, then surely a sailor has reached a level of mastery that many others can only aspire to?
That's what I'm aiming for; a better personal handicap be damned...I want to be intuitive!
Chay Blyth, now one of the world's sailing legends, had never sailed before he set out to race around the world in that infamous 1968 race. He followed a friend's boat to the start line, copying every move made by his mate! Yet his explanation of why he attempted the race is simple and profound and cements his 'lone hero' status ...
'It was my voyage of discovery, and what I wanted to discover was me.'
Sunday, October 30, 2011
Ten Hours Until Dawn
'...there's a type of person - and there's very few of them around - that when everybody else is backing away, they're going forward...'Perhaps one of the saddest sea stories I have read in recent times is the story of the Can Do, a steel hulled, 49ft pilot boat captained by Frank Quirk.
Frank and the Can Do worked the waters of Gloucester and Salem Harbours in Massachusetts, transferring pilots to ships waiting outside the harbour breakwaters and then guiding them across the dangerous bars. Frank also worked closely with the Coast Guard at Gloucester, supporting local patrols and providing assistance with rescues. The former navy Seabee (construction unit) was known for keeping a clear head in a crisis. A twenty year veteran of the sea, Frank and the Can Do were regular fixtures in the waters off Gloucester, where they saved more than one life.
Frank was awarded three Mariner's Medals, Gloucester's highest honour: the third was awarded posthumously after the 1978 blizzard that claimed 99 lives, including that of Frank and his crew.
The same kind of meteorological event described in Sebastian Junger's Perfect Storm and experienced by sailors in the 1998 Sydney to Hobart Yacht Race, the blizzard that hit Massachusetts on 6 February 1978 brought winds of 92 miles per hour and dumped 3 foot of snow in a few short hours. Just as the storm was kicking off, the Gloucester Coast Guard received a distress call from the captain of the Global Hope, an oil tanker that had run aground near Salem with 32 men onboard and was believed to be in danger of breaking up.
The Coast Guard dispatched its available vessels, the largest of which was just 44ft. Frank overheard the radio transmissions and called in his willingness to assist. The smaller Coast Guard vessel is forced to turn back almost immediately. When the larger vessel loses its electronics and can no longer navigate the fierce waves, Frank tells Coast Guard control he and his crew 'will give it their best shot' to find them and bring them home.
Reading Ten Hours Until Dawn is a lot like reading about the maiden voyage of the Titanic, or the last trip of the Andrea Gail. You know how it's going to end, but as you spend time with the characters, you begin to hope against hope that they will survive. The transcripts of the heartbreaking radio transmissions during the final hours of the Can Do only heighten the sense of loss.
A memoriam notice in the Gloucester Times on the 25th anniversary of the blizzard ends with the words 'we gave it our best shot'. And they did.
I went sailing yesterday...
It was Port Albert Yacht Club's Around Sunday Island race, held every year on the Saturday of the weekend before Melbourne Cup day. Can you see the irony?
From Wikipedia:
The 16 nautical mile passage race started at 10:30am and we finished at 3 pm, mid fleet, a respectable 7th on corrected time.
This was just my second passage race as skipper. I bought Scooch (then named Bitter Sweet) in February 2010, just in time for the Marlay Point Overnight Race. The Marlay is Australia's premier race for trailerable yachts and traverses the Gippsland Lakes from the western to the eastern end, from Marlay Point on Lake Wellington to Paynesville, Lake King.
See below for a description of that first race, posted by me on that fantastic web forum, Trailer Sailer Place, http://www.trailersailerplace.com.au/
From Wikipedia:
Sunday Island is a low-lying, sandy, 16.2 km2 barrier island on the coast of Victoria, Australia. It is about 8 km long by 3 km wide and rises to a maximum height of no more than 15 m asl. It lies in Corner Inlet, South Gippsland, 4 km south-west of Port Albert and 215 km south-east of Melbourne. Although the island is surrounded by the Nooramunga Marine and Coastal Park, it is private freehold property, a game reserve owned by the Para Park Cooperative.[1] It contains an airstrip and a jetty as well as accommodation buildings for a resident manager and visiting members.So there we were, me (and my two crew) in my Ultimate 18 trailer sailer, Scooch, along with twelve other competitors in trailer sailer yachts that ranged from 16-25ft. It was raining and cold, and we were as happy as pigs in mud. (Come to think of it, the parkland surrounding the yacht club was very muddy.)
The 16 nautical mile passage race started at 10:30am and we finished at 3 pm, mid fleet, a respectable 7th on corrected time.
This was just my second passage race as skipper. I bought Scooch (then named Bitter Sweet) in February 2010, just in time for the Marlay Point Overnight Race. The Marlay is Australia's premier race for trailerable yachts and traverses the Gippsland Lakes from the western to the eastern end, from Marlay Point on Lake Wellington to Paynesville, Lake King.
See below for a description of that first race, posted by me on that fantastic web forum, Trailer Sailer Place, http://www.trailersailerplace.com.au/
It was to be my second Marlay Point, my first as Skipper of my own boat – an Ultimate 18 drop keel I had purchased a month before the race and christened Scooch. In case you’re wondering about the name: to scooch, is to slide small distances at a time, mostly on one’s behind. So as well as being a term I use each night when tucking my young son into bed, it’s a fairly apt description of my sailing style.
The day of the race dawned clear and still, with a light north-easterly forecast for the evening. The weather may have been calm but I was not. Excitement and nerves mingled as we made the last few adjustments to rigging and gear before heading to Marlay Point.
We were a crew of three; yours truly, first mate Michael - an experienced sailor with an uncanny ability to sniff out the wind - and six year old Regan, the aforementioned young son who was crewing in his first race. The race started well for Regan when, during the pre-race briefing, he was presented with a prize for being the youngest crew member at age 6 – a bag of lollies. Great. Every kid stuck on a small boat for hours on end needs a large supply of sugar. Not!
Getting out of the marina to the start line was the first challenge. For those that know Marlay Point, the ‘marina’ is actually a shallow creek that runs from Lake Wellington into the nearby morass. It’s reedy and shallow. A great place to shelter but a navigational nightmare when scores of boats are attempting to motor out at the same time. Boat after boat ran aground on the boggy north side as others reversed from the opposite bank without warning. It was entertaining to watch.
Once in clear water, we hoisted the sails – main and genoa – and headed for the start line. With one minute to the start we were in a great position on the eastern end of the line. I had one eye on the traffic and one on the sky, watching intently for the green flare, when my concentration was broken by my son’s voice. Mum, I need the toilet.
Amazingly, I was back on the helm in time for the start. Truth be told, none of us saw the flare but we followed as the boats around us surged over the line.
Light, fluky winds prevailed across Lake Wellington. After a couple of hours, contrary to all forecasts, we detected a slight breeze from across the port stern quarter. We quietly set the spinnaker and, much to our delight, passed several boats in quick succession. Time for a celebratory coffee and milo. The dreaded question came soon after.
How much further Mum?
I explained that the trip to Paynesville was a hop, skip and a jump and that we were halfway through the hop. This seemed to satisfy Regan, who settled into his bunk for the first of his cat naps. An hour later, he reappeared bleary eyed and looked around.
Where are we now Mum?
Still on the hop honey, I said, beginning to feel a little tense. He sat down beside me in the cockpit and soon fell asleep again, snoring quietly. I left him there until we needed to tack, and then put him in his bunk while Michael sailed solo for a few minutes.
When Regan was next to reappear we were in McLennan Straits. It was one in the morning. I decided to pre-empt the question.
Hi honey, we’re on the skip! The little boy smiled and looked around. His face quickly took on a puzzled expression.
Why has everybody stopped? His voice was loud in the stillness.
Not stopped, I explained quickly, just going very slowly.
Better than going backwards, I joked. Little did I know what was to come.
One of the things I love most about the race is the camaraderie between yachts. Even when on top of each other in the narrow Straits, most people are calm and courteous when advising of their need for water. Of course, there’s always an exception to the rule. I won’t mention any names. Suffice to say it was serendipitous when, after repeatedly screeching at us to move down (I would have obliged had we not been becalmed and without steerage, just like the other dozen boats that were with us), one fellow rudely fended us off with a kick, only to propel us forwards and his boat backwards by quite a few feet.
Further along the straits, an all-male crew was demonstrating their superior knowledge of aerodynamics. The skipper was on the helm with a flashlight trained on the sails as he shouted his instructions in a terse voice. One of his crew stood on the cabin top and scrunched the main sail into an odd shape. The other was doing the same with the jib, his silhouette invoking the crucifixion as he stood silently, arms outstretched. The skipper continued to shout instructions as we slid silently past.
How is that woman passing us? The question came from the prone bowman, who sounded a little put out.
Well, obviously, I don’t know everything! The affronted skipper turned off his flashlight and we lost sight of them in the dark.
Our race was progressing well, if slowly. We had passed many larger and faster boats, thanks to Michael’s keen wind sense, and were in good spirits. But after another couple of hours I noticed something disturbing.
Mike, I think we’re going backwards!
The tide had changed and the current was slowly and surely pulling us back the way we had come. Boats began throwing out their anchors to hold position. Some people began to wash down their boats. Others took the opportunity to have some refreshments. We thought we felt a light wind over the stern and raised the spinnaker.
Nice anchor! shouted someone, beer in hand.
I like the colour! I called back, as we continued backwards.
We soon joined the others in throwing out out the anchor, made coffee and fended off the swarm of mossies that had arrived with the dawn.
Not too long after we were off again but after more than sixteen hours, my youngest crew member was losing enthusiasm. We discussed our options and decided to drop Regan off at Holland’s Landing, where I knew his father was waiting to wave us past. I quickly sent my husband a text message outlining the plan.
For the next hour or so we sang nursery rhymes as we tacked back and forth across the Straits, inching ever closer to Holland’s Landing. Row Row Row Your Boat garnered some laughs from other boats as we approached the drop off point. We managed to tack in near to the jetty and threw Regan to his father. A helpful bystander neatly took the catch and passed Regan to his grateful Dad.
We waved goodbye and took off again, Lake Victoria in sight, determined to finish the race. We knew we had disqualified ourselves by losing a crewman overboard and not attempting to retrieve him, but we didn’t care. We were racing against ourselves and the 3pm cut-off, after which any boat not home would technically be a DNF-Did Not Finish.
Scooch lifted her skirts in the freshening breeze and we enjoyed an exhilarating reach down the Lake towards Storm Point, finally on ‘the jump’ after 11 hours in the Straits. We were mostly close hauled with the occasional shy run with the multi-coloured anchor as the fickle wind kept shifting. We had just reached a race record speed of 5 knots when there was a loud twang. A shackle on the backstay had given way.
Our speed dropped to a bit over 3 knots as we made a hasty repair. Every girl worth her salt carries a spare D shackle in her handbag.
We were soon back up to speed and enjoying a close tussle with a Farr 6000 as we approached Wattle Point. We were just 3 nautical miles from Paynesville when the clock struck 3pm. We toasted ourselves and Scooch with a swig of warm water – and kept sailing.
We had been racing for 19 hours. Technically we were a DNF, or Did Not Finish. I prefer to think of it as Did Not Fail. We didn’t hit anyone, we sailed further and faster than many larger, quicker boats, and we had a ball doing it. Regan is already talking about next year.
The Marlay Point Overnight Race is a trailer-sailer institution. Sometimes it’s a magical run across the Gippsland Lakes under moon and stars, other times it’s an epic slog to windward, punctuated by squalls and mossies. But it’s always a privilege; to sail in the wake of the 13,000+ boats that have attempted the race since 1969, in the company of like-minded souls who love the wind.
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