THINGS I HATE ABOUT CRUISING

1.   The Mawson effect

When the wind gets to about 20 knots, it whines and whistles through the rigging.  Even if it is a warm, sunny day and we are tied up at a nice safe marina on inland waters, a vague unease overtakes me and I feel as if I might actually be in Mawson’s hut.  As Moonraker herself won’t get out of bed for less than 20 knots and she is cruises at 35 knots, this makes me an irrational wimp.

2.   The cuts, bruises and abrasions

I look like a battered wife, and to be fair and non-sexist about this, Dean looks like a battered husband. The main culprits are:

·         winches: why are they strategically placed in the middle of the cockpit entry and therefore magnets to backs and hips when the boat is bouncy?

·         lockers and tables in the saloon and other cabins : too close together to get past without extreme slinkiness, causing damage to shins, thighs and hips

·         cleats: designed to capture and hold fingers

·         sheets, halyards and docking ropes: designed to tear off fingernails and strips of skin

·         the sun and wind: designed to wrinkle the skin if not burn it off all together, or encourage skin growths that are best unsightly and at worst fatal

·         psychological trauma… numbers 3 to 5 see below

3.   The first commandment of cruising

The first commandment of cruising is that something will break on a cruising yacht every two weeks if you are not sailing and every two days if you are.  This creates nervous anticipation, which in turn generate trauma. What will go next?  This week we were sailing, so we got two breakages: the hot water system sprang a spectacular leak onto the engine, and the reinforcement on the genoa near the stays frayed.  Not so scary. 

But next week it might be the mast or the engine?

4.   No brakes

Moonraker is hard to drive in close quarters and at slow speed. She is very responsive to wind, and her bow will waltz off to leeward in company with any little breeze if given the chance. Conversely, she has a fairly full keel, which means that she is slow to turn and the devil to back. When she does deign to move backwards in response to much revving of the engine, she is unpredictable, acting like a skittish colt with the classic keel-boat prop-walk to port.  Paradoxically, the keel is as responsive to tides and currents as it is unresponsive to the engine. The keel acts like a giant sail to the tidal winds.  Any current will either take Moonraker’s stern off in the direction of the current, OR sometimes the keel will start sailing into the current. Go figure.  A 1 knot current has the same power and effect on the keel that that a force 4 wind has on the bow, but the keel won’t necessarily signal what direction it will go.

 And she has no brakes. We don’t (apparently) approve of bow thrusters.  After all, they can break and don’t encourage good seamanship.    Further, Moonraker weighs in at 15 tonnes.  It is not an option to use arms or legs to fend off an upcoming pylon, boat or pontoon, unless you are happy to lose the limb.  Pulling and tugging on ropes has its limits too unless you are a sumo wrestler.  Moonraker tends to win tugs-of-war.

If you actually want to go to somewhere in particular, the only option is to keep going fast to maintain steerage, and point in a direction (unknowable) that allows the particular tides, currents and wind (and don’t forget waves) on that day to do their thing in concert with the keel, bow, motor or sails. So the ‘routine’ entry and exit of our pen at the marina is fraught, especially when the there is a full tidal effect pushing the keel, a 25 knot wind abeam taking the bow, an engine pleasing its self, a pen about 3 feet wider than the boat, and the front of the pen 1 foot from where we need to stop the boat.  Precisely.

The head

I have a superb sense of smell.  I hate bad wine and marine toilets. Our marine toilet is not unusually complex. It has a bowl, two macerators, a holding tank and good knows how many inlet and outlet valves, pumps and hoses.  It uses salt water to flush. Salt water is actually a rich organic soup of living creatures, most of which can’t be seen by the human eye. When the creatures get sucked into the complex bowels of a marine toilet, they partner with bacteria in the system and soon (within as little as 6 hours if conditions are warm, dark and comfortable) we have a noxious brew of foul odours and forbidding colours. This calls for a complex ritual that involves incantations, magic brews, flushings, a particular cocktail of bleach and vinegar applied to the head, plus a further restorative mix of ethanol plus flavours applied to the owner of the head.

Suburban plumbing has its strengths.

Authors Note: Don’t get me wrong.  There are heaps of things I love about crusing too.  As soon as I can remember what they are I’ll write about them.

THE DAVID CASSON CURRICULUM

Dean and I have lived our lives in and around schools and universities. Maybe this is why Dean is determined that sailing be primarily a learning experience for us.  It is certainly not enough just to enjoy ourselves.  In fact, enjoying ourselves is not mandatory and is perhaps even unproductive.  Learning stuff is the main game.

OMG! as Natalie and Heather would say. 

Our days are a dizzy whirl of class schedules, training sessions, practice routines, revision and assessment.  We are certified and trained to the point of exhaustion. Yesterday was devoted to attaining a deep understanding of the first law of boat motoring: viz caste off the mooring ropes before you motor away.  We got the theory bits right but, as all educators know, the theory practice gap can be large (and in this case embarrassing).

In our thirst for skills and knowhow, David Casson, Moonraker’s previous owner, has been a teacher, guide and mentor.

I suspect that he found us difficult and demanding pupils. For a start, we were starting a fair way back and I fear we might be in the low-aptitude stream. Also, I am probably still the annoying goody-two-shoes I was in primary school and Dean has remained the rebellious, argumentative student who wants to know more than anyone has the patience to cover.  How? Why? When? Where? Who?  And do you have references for that? Has an appropriately historical perspective been applied?

When we first met David, he had no difficulty in establishing the respect that every teacher needs in front of the class. We were in awe of his mysterious knowledge, his broad skills and his distinctive approach to life. He is a complete yachty from tip to toe. He and Moonraker have been on astonishing adventures together over the last 13 years.  He has had her hove-to in 65 knot storms, comfortably (he says). He has had her sail up Kimberley creeks on flood tides where she perched on her keel miles inland, in the middle of the red desert.  He has anchored all over Sydney harbour, up the Clarence River to Grafton and off many a tropical paradise.

David was Moonraker’s third owner, and he is insistent that Moonraker is the result of the combined efforts of all owners. He has been careful to make sure we understand our responsibilities as we join the select group of Moonraker owners.

Truth be known, early practical lessons from David were fairly discouraging for us as the scope of the required learning became evident. The most challenging of the practical units for me were Jammed Windlass 10, Water Pouring into the Bilge 10, Wine Spillage on the Carpet 10, and Managing Head Odour 20.  Both Dean and I had to re-sit most units, as one of the key assessment criteria we consistently failed was how not to get into the pickle that required the skills in the first place.  I found, for instance that I have a tenacious commitment to jamming the windlass. Dean likes a challenge so his favourite units were Bar Crossing 10 (no breaking waves) and Bar Crossing 20 (breaking waves). He appeared to show aptitude, but I noted that the teacher leapt to take over from time to time on the practical bits.

David kept encouraging and reassuring us: it’s all easy, David says, if you know how.

Like all good teachers, David’s teaching goes well beyond the practical.  He was also keen to teach us the correct attitude to life and how it should be lived. It’s hard to sum up and it was as foreign to us as the inner workings of a windlass.

One thread has to do with self-sufficiency. David’s lore (or rather my interpretation of it) goes something like this:

·         Every problem has a simple solution and a range of hard ones. Always pick the simple solution. (This bewildered Dean and me at first. We had always understood that a dialectical, all-encompassing analysis is superior. )

·         Don’t get someone else to do it if you can do it yourself.   (WHAT? Are you joking?)

·         If you employ a professional, learn from them, but first make sure they know what they are doing.  A certificate doesn’t always ensure competence. (Well, he’s right there!)

·         Don’t get strangers to do things for you.  They might stuff it up and mates are better anyway. (Has he met our mates?)

·         Because humans are ingenious and entrepreneurial, there is a product or service on the market for everything conceivable, and someone who will sell it to you. Check to make sure there isn’t a simpler and cheaper way to go. (This sounds like the end of capitalism as we know it….  OK.  Why not?)

·         Equally, if there is a product that is simple, inexpensive and it works, buy it.  In fact buy two or three, as it will break one day and odds are it will be out of production by then. (Now he’s talking, except for the bits about simple and inexpensive. I should have bought three of those automatic tea makers.)

Another curriculum thread has to do with good seamanship. Everything, David asserts, must be ship-shape and Bristol fashion.  I thought this sounded like a universal good, until I learned that it is actually code for making sure everyone is exhausted at the end of the day. Stainless steel should be shiny.  Sails should be set nicely. Clears should be clear.  Metal should be rust free.  Paint should be kept up to the mark. Engines should be maintained. Bilges should be dry. Make sure everything is securely stowed in lockers. Coil ropes correctly.

He is also somewhat sceptical about all those modern gadgets that make life comfortable. While insistent that we fully understand how to use modern technology he was equally insistent that we never rely on it. GPS and plotters are OK but, always know where you are on the chart.  Bow thrusters on small boats (less than 50 tonnes) are really just aids for the lazy or unskilled.  Wear safety jackets (unless your parents named you David).  Know your bilge pumps but keep a bucket handy.

Another dominant thread in David’s teachings is to maintain a healthy dose of scepticism about officialdom. He appears to think that the government is not always there to help you! In fact, seeing things from David’s perspective is enough to make you into an anarchist, really. Government will, for instance, insist that you keep buying flares and throwing away perfectly good ones, even though ‘out of date’ flares still work. So, keep some in-date ones to show them if they inspect but don’t throw out the old ones.  They might come in handy. Government will insist on regular expensive, heavily regulated testing on your life raft, even though it has never been used and has been well looked after. So, don’t worry too much about the specifics of testing dates. Government will demand that only a licenced gas person (i.e. expensive specialist) be allowed to fiddle with your gas fittings. Really that takes the cake since the only reason you need the gas guy in the first place that the government regulated into obsolescence your favourite style of gas regulator and the hoses on your BBQ. Lesson: don’t sell you boat too often, and so the officials have no excuse to check.

David also teaches a strong sense of community responsibility, is very safety conscious and is a practising greeny if not a political one. Dean and I felt much more a home with this part of the syllabus. Obey speed limits. Don’t tip rubbish into the ocean. Leave it how you left it.  Help your fellow yachty where you can.  Use biodegradable products. Obey the rules of the sea. Thank God for weather forecasters. Keep the seas healthy. A surprising one was ‘Don’t bother Marine Rescue services unless you absolutely can’t help yourself’.  I originally thought the various rescue services were the marine equivalent of the RAC: there to help you any time one of your husbands is not available and you lock your keys in the car.  Apparently not.  They are best thought of as the triple-0 service.  Damn.

We began this adventure as a couple of in-experienced urbanites. Unkind people might say that we were members of the chattering classes who had never before raised a spanner with intent to fix.  But, thanks to David, we now have a new range of skills (elementary level) and responsibilities (degree level) and the opportunity to develop new perspectives on life.  

The course assessment is still to come. We will ultimately be marked against David Casson's standards of how well we look after Moonraker, the quality of our seamanship and our success in adapting to the yachty life and all that that entails.  

Thank you David.

FIRST OFFICIAL GUEST

We were excited.  Four weeks after boarding the boat we were about host a friend from our pre-sailing life.  Bravely, he planned to join us on the final day of our first passage as we sailed through the Sydney Harbour Heads. I imagined sails set, wind in our hair and champagne glasses clinking. Fair winds were forecast, 15-20 knot north-easterlies, exactly in Moonraker’s sweet-spot. 

Our friend (let me call him Dearest First Guest, or DFG for short) got himself to Pittwater the night before the sail. We picked him up from the Palm Beach Jetty in our little tender and rowed him to the yacht. We knew that the hole in the inflatable dingy was far too small to sink it on that short trip, so we were cautiously unconcerned about his welfare at that point. So far, so good.

A stylish dinner was in order for that evening to set the tone for dining on board Moonraker. However, the chef was ragged from the day’s sail and the whiz-bang eutectic fridge had not started working. We had to make do with heated supermarket pies with steamed veg, plus (quel horreur) tomato sauce from a bottle. It wasn’t all bad, of course, as the sunset came up trumps, Broken Bay is beautiful on a calm clear evening and DFG supplied a grateful crew with champagne and hazelnut encrusted chocolate.

Next morning, DFG was up early, ostensibly admiring the sunrise.  Later, we realised the wide berth in the saloon had only seemed to be the delux sleeping option for him. He is quite tall and not very wide, and would have been better in the forward v-berth. Further, we now know that a pin must be inserted to secure the saloon berth.  By early morning the structure had collapsed. DFG was awake and pretending that he is always up early flexing his back to remove kinks.  Nice sunrise indeed.

Undaunted, we breakfasted on Dean’s customised premium muesli (some culinary standards never drop) and looked forward to a brisk passage to Sydney.

What a crushing disappointment. The forecast winds did not arrive.  The breeze was 3-5 knots for most of the way, condemning the 15-tonne Moonraker to motoring on glassy seas.  The mainsail was up, but only to stabilise the roll and wallow in the two-meter quartering swell. The poor excuse for a wind only had enough puff to blow the diesel fumes over the stern into the cockpit.

DGF found a convenient perch on the push-pit seat and chatted politely to anyone who passed by. He was very pale and occasionally leaned over the stern to lose the pie and sauce, the champagne, the hazelnut chocolate and the premium muesli.

Perhaps in sympathy for him, the genoa snagged itself on a renegade screw that had eased from furler sheath.  So, even when the breeze freshened close to the Sydney Heads, using the genoa was not an option.

Nothing daunted, on approach, the motor was turned off. We were determined to SAIL through the Heads. Who cares that we had up only one (reefed) sail? Who cares that the genoa looked pathetic half-wrapped around the furler? Did the shoulder-straining weather helm really matter? Sydney Heads is really something, especially on a Saturday.  By then, even the memory of the pies had dimmed. DFG might have retained nothing in his stomach but he helped us retain a sense of occasion as we sailed into the most beautiful harbour in the world, on our yacht at the end of our first passage. 

I hope he comes again. We have promised to do better.