MOONRAKER MEDAL, MARCH 2011 AWARDED TO D. ASHENDEN

Moonraker Medal, March 2011,  Awarded to D Ashenden for having formerly unrecognised talents

It was a pitch black night. Moonraker was 10 NM out to sea, on a passage from Iluka to the Gold Coast.  Unforecast winds were gusting to 50 knots. Forks of lightening (also unforecast) illuminated a chaotic sea. The boat was rocking and rolling. The radar was scary to look at, highlighting the heavy squalls continually overtaking us. The motor was chugging to support the fully reefed sails, their combined effort only just giving us speed over the ground against the south-bound SE Australian current. The Cape Byron Light blinked in the distance and the appearance of the occasional tanker kept us on our toes.  We felt a little apprehensive. But at least it was going to be a good night for testing our competencies for ‘short-handed crew watch-keeping ‘, which was why we were there after all. 

At about 10 pm, just after I took the first watch, we unexpectedly gybed.  At the same time a particularly violent roll sent the pot of stew flying, distributing rich aromatic lumps all over the carpet in the salon. At the same time the GPS decided to cut out, as it does occasionally. In accord with watch procedures, Dean got up to lend a hand.  I spent about 15 minutes below scooping up the worst of the stew and rebooting the GPS, while Dean kept watch. Bad move.  I should know by now what happens when I concentrate on head-down tasks, especially in the cabin, especially in wallowy seas, especially when surrounded by strong smells and engine fumes.  By the time I got back on deck I was truly unwell. 

Things got worse. While I tried to pull myself together, Dean did the routine check of the fuel filters. He came flying up into the cockpit. “Turn off the engine. The first filter is packed with gunk and the second one is cloudy.” 

So there we were. The engine was off, and possibly gunked-up; the seas were worse; the speed over the ground was precisely zero knots despite our considerable way; it was still stormy and dark and wet; one crew member was sick; the carpet was still stewy.  A plan of action was required, although to be honest I was past caring.

What to do?  Dean announced that he was going to change the fuel filters.  “Just keep a lookout,” he said and disappeared below.  10 minutes later he popped up.  “Let’s try that.”  We turned on the engine… cough, cough. No good.  Back into the engine goes Dean. “I think I forgot to bleed the air out of the filters”, he shouts. Another ten minutes later, Dean popped up again.  “Turn on the engine”.  It worked. 

Dean’s triumph was short lived. A glance at me, my bucket and my violent shivers and he gallantly took over my watch. A doona was deployed and I went out like a light in the cockpit.  I woke about 5 am, to find Dean cheerful, the motor healthy, the wind and seas moderated, the sails full, the boat making good time and first light dawning. There was less stew in the carpet. A cup of hot tea was at the ready.

So, the Moonraker Medal March 2011 for goes to Dean, academic urbanite who showed himself to be a practical man after all; who requires his 8 hours of sleep every night but who cheerfully kept watch all through a cold, dark, stormy night on a tossing sea; who turned out to be one of those one-in-a-thousand people immune to seasickness even in a cramped, hot, smelly engine room, conditions which would bring undone even the most seasoned sailor;  who is known for wielding arguments and a word processor but who clearly has a way with a spanner as well; and who at the same time was kind to the sick AND delivered wake-up cups of tea.