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Why sail at Port Walcott
when we've got perfectly good water in Exmouth? Was it the change of scenery?
Was it the word "Regatta"; was it the promise of glory attained
in far lands? Who knows..! What's clear though was that three Intrepid Sailors
and four Crew got themselves together on Friday July 18 and set off to the
North. Admittedly, two of the crew (Debbie and Sandy) only had a short run
to Learmonth Airport from where two of the sailors (Alan and Jan) would join
them, to travel on together in convoy. Alas, Jan had to do some last minute
things to his boat and Alan to his tax return. When these two, finally, got
to Learmonth, the two birds had flown out already. They wouldn't be seen again
till Nanutarra.
As we neared Fortescue Roadhouse, whilst Debbie's campervan would at times
be strangely timid in the act of follow the leader and stay way behind, it
became clear that reaching Wickham that night always had been a long shot.
So we camped there, seemingly against the wishes of the roadhouse staff whose
welcome was a little tepid. But the showers were strong and hot, just what
was needed that freezing next morning.
All packed up and on board, we set off for the next stage, or so we thought.
We (Alan & Jan) started to worry a little when the girls didn't show where
we had stopped for them to catch us up. Turning back, we found them. They
had travelled a full 200 meter from the Roadhouse until a failed automatic
gearbox had brought a halt to their progress.. What to do?
The girls wouldn't hear about us staying with them and missing the races.
They had each other, didn't they, plus we gave them some real good advice
to call the RAC and get themselves towed to Karratha, just over 100 km away.
We'd get them from there after the Saturday race. So we left them with their
troubles.
Pt Walcott Yacht club is situated on top of a dune overlooking, no, not Port
Walcott. That is located at the other side of the peninsula. The yacht club
though certainly overlooks some water. And some islands and some land tongues.
So it's really on a huge bay, offering far out views and boating protected
from the big Indian Ocean swells. One could say its location was amenable.
The club itself is housed in a good sized building, with the kitchen on one
side, the bar on the other side, with seating in between. Especially the kitchen
was impressive - all big and gleaming apparatus, sufficient to cater for an
orphanage. Above all, the people running the show got a guernsey for their
organisation of the event. But their loos don't have a flush on ours!!
So, finally we had got to the business end of the endeavour. James had already
offloaded Alan's boat that had piggybacked on his Nacra and had tried to fix
a broken part. His crew members, Jessie and Billy, had become a bit jumpy,
but climbing up and racing down the hill settled their energies until their
moment of fame: sailing with Dad on the Big Water!
Alan was the first to get going, Jan followed soon after. But what was that?
Jan turned back...oh no, disaster had struck! Oh dear, his rudder pin had
come loose down below and now his rudder had wrenched itself sideways, shearing
off a piece of hull. This couldn't be helped in a hurry. End of the race for
Jan.
The course for the smaller cats was a simple triangle, but with the buoys
spaced far and wide. Alan said later that he thought he was following Jan,
unable to catch him, until he realised he had been racing someone else. He
had no idea Jan hadn't entered the race. The other boats were divvied up in
five divisions; there were bigger cats, some like James', and also some trailer
sailers.
There was a good breeze from the East. One small cat had capsized already
but the rescue boat was at hand and it was quickly righted but continued to
roll and went over again. James though was doing well in his class, racing
at speed over an extended course, way out into the bay. Now he was coming
home in style! Suddenly, after a tack...could this really be happening..?
We saw his Catapult also go over! With the telescope we quickly ascertained
that the whole crew was still aboard and here, too, the rescue boat was quickly
on the scene. No prize for James this time though.
Later, Jessie asked her dad very politely if she and her brother could possibly
be excused from crewing the next day...
They were. And in fact everyone was.
That night, lying in our tents on the club lawn, we heard the wind starting
to blow. And blow. And harder. The forecast cast fore 25 - 35 knots till Sunday
midnight: No go. At least not on the water.
Debbie and Sandy had rejoined us during the Saturday race. They had found
a willing victim that had towed them to Karratha just in time for a mechanic
to fill up the oil in their gearbox. Mobile again, but sans map, they had
managed to find the yacht club, after a thorough but unintended survey of
the whole peninsula.
A regatta isn't worth its name if no other liquids than water can be enjoyed.
And so it happened that till late, for some very late, by the sound of the
band, many a story was swapped (for the truth, that is) and a few sea legs
were inspired to stomp the dance floor. Breakfast was a long, long way off.
Jan van der Schaar
