A Yacht Called Erewhon (21 page)

‘Float, old girl,’ I said, under my breath. ‘Float!’

As if she heard my command, the hull stopped moving and the cradle carried on. I signalled to Hepi to stop, and the crowd hushed, the band fell silent, and the birds stopped singing. An eerie calm settled as it took a few seconds for everyone to appreciate what had just happened. Hepi wound in the cable, and the cradle ascended as the water lapped at the fresh anti-fouling paint.
Erewhon
was back where she belonged.

Dad stepped aboard as Matt and I, with a couple of volunteers, made her fast to the piles. He was beaming as he beckoned Mum, Millie and Mic on board, Dad offering his hand to Millie. Mum followed and kissed him as she stepped over the rail. Mic accepted his hand as he said, ‘Welcome aboard!’

She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. ‘Thank you, Jim. Nana is so pleased. Thank you for believing this was possible.’

Dad hugged her and smiled.

Others in the crowd surged down the jetty and stepped onto the yacht as the excitement grew. Everyone wanted to be part of the occasion. Dad couldn’t stop smiling as people shook his hand and slapped him on his back. He was still enjoying the moment when he looked back to the shore and saw Sam’s
casket. He nodded to Hepi, who picked up the microphone and called everyone back to shore.

Harry retook his position, and the crowd hushed. Millie joined him as he moved quickly to conclude the formal part of the service. Chalky rose to his feet with the baton in his hand, and the band played the only hymn Sam knew: ‘All Things Bright and Beautiful’.

The President of the RSA stood with the two men who were the other pallbearers and paid tribute to their fallen comrade. Dad, Matt, Hepi and I stepped forward to carry Sam to
Erewhon
, and a lone trumpeter played the last post as we slowly walked the casket down the jetty and placed it on board
Erewhon.

With the casket safely on the stern, Matt and I slipped the stern line while two others let go the bow, and
Erewhon
eased away into mid-stream. We lowered the anchor, and the bow swung upriver. The crowd on the bank buzzed as they surveyed the majestic craft.

Hepi flicked the switch on the public-address system and announced that morning tea was being served at the house. Slowly, the crowd turned away from the riverbank and wandered up the path. Conversation was reserved at first, but after a few minutes the smiles began to return to faces as people chatted about the occasion.

Millie busied herself helping the caterers and enjoyed being able to chat with people as she handed them food. It was her way of coping.

Everyone offered their congratulations on the yacht or expressed their satisfaction with Sam’s ceremony, as Mum and Dad circulated. Dad invited each group to join us on Looney’s barge to complete the day for Sam and see
Erewhon
under sail out on the gulf.

‘How fuckin’ many of these bastards are coming?’ Looney asked.

‘Don’t know—probably most of them!’ Dad replied, with a chuckle.

‘Jeez, that’ll test the harbourmaster’s fuckin’ sense of humour!’

‘Don’t worry, Looney,’ Dad replied. ‘He’s over there in the corner, and he’ll probably be one of your passengers.’

‘Fuckin’ hell!’

Hepi and a few of the others set about loading the barbecues onto the barge, along with boxes of food and drink.

‘Make sure there’s plenty,’ Dad called, as the momentum began to build. A few of the boating crowd had disappeared and returned by midday in their launches and yachts, anchoring around
Erewhon
, ready to escort her down-harbour.

The remaining crowd milled around in anticipation. The band set itself up in front of the wheelhouse, and Hepi gave the call to everybody who couldn’t find a boat to board the barge.

Matt and I had gathered several of our mates to assist on
Erewhon
, and Patty, Jackie and TJ, now decked out in
Erewhon
uniforms, also joined us.

‘We’ve got an appointment at the naval base at 13:00, so it’s time we were leaving,’ Dad called.

Once everyone was on board, Dad nodded to Paint, who turned the key and hit the start button. The exhaust spat out a jet of water as the engine flashed into life. Paint allowed himself a wry grin as the exhaust burbled away just above the waterline. He checked over the side to see that the cooling water was flowing, and gave Dad the thumbs-up.

Dad nodded to Mic and pointed to the steering wheel. ‘Take her down-harbour.’

Mic stepped up to the wheel, then turned and looked to where Sam was resting on the stern. She walked a few paces to stand alongside the dinghy and placed her hand on the plaque.
‘Thank you, Sam,’ she whispered.

She turned back to the wheel and took up her position. Paint was waiting at the engine controls when Mic called, ‘Weigh the anchor!’ I stood on the windlass switch and the chain rattled in over the bow. The anchor broke the surface and neatly slotted into its bracket on the port bow.

The crowd went silent as Mic nodded to Paint. He slipped the engine into gear, and
Erewhon
edged forward. She spun the wheel hard to starboard, and
Erewhon
turned slowly towards the sea. The outgoing tide helped bring her bow around, and the support fleet parted and took up positions on either side. Paint pushed the throttle forward, and
Erewhon
gained speed as her bow sliced through the upper harbour channel.

Looney raised the bow-ramp and took up position at the tail of the fleet. The party on board was soon in full swing as the boys in the band let loose.

We passed under the Greenhithe Bridge, realising that once the mast was stepped it would be the barrier that would prevent us returning
Erewhon
to our jetty at the foot of the farm.

Dad moved over to where Millie was sitting with Mum and put his arm around her shoulder. ‘What do you think Sam would be thinking right now?’

Millie smiled. ‘He wasn’t one for crowds, but he would have loved this day.’

Dad smiled as he walked forward to stand alongside Mic. ‘You look particularly comfortable standing there, gorgeous. Are you happy to take her alongside at the naval base?’

‘Just try and stop me!’ she replied.

Dad laughed and carried on forward to chat to TJ. ‘What do you think?’

‘Well, Jim. I think
Valhalla
has a rival in the beauty stakes. She truly is magnificent, but I’ll reserve my judgement on her sailing ability until I see her under canvas.’

Dad looked down-harbour at the glass-calm water. ‘I don’t know if we’re going to have any breeze to show her off today. Still, let’s get the mast stepped, and then we’ll have a look at the wind.’

TJ nodded and then looked up as the entourage passed under the harbour bridge.

Since it was a Saturday, the naval base would normally have been quiet, but today a large number of the staff had come in to have a look at
Erewhon.
Terry Espie and his crew were on hand to fit the mast, and one of his men received the bowline as it was thrown to him. With pinpoint accuracy, Mic placed her gently against the wharf alongside the waiting crane.

‘Moment of truth,’ Terry said, as he shook Dad’s hand.

Some of the boys on the dock lowered a gangplank, so the girls could go ashore, while the mast was being swung around. Patty and Jackie enjoyed the attention from the shore crew as the whistles went up, while Mic smiled but remained aloof.

The giant overhead crane whined into life, as the operator lowered the hook to the ground and Terry’s men attached it to a lifting strop on the mast. The crane took the strain and gently raised the mast off its rests. Several of the hands held onto a rope attached to the base of the spar and, once it was free of the ground, braced themselves to stop it swinging away from the yacht. The crane didn’t even grunt as it hoisted the lightweight mast high into the air and quickly had it in position over the mast-step.

Mic stepped back on deck and handed Dad a small box. ‘What’s this?’ he asked, looking at the mysterious little package.

‘Just a little something to place under the mast for good luck.’

Dad put his thumb under the lip on the container and flicked it open. Inside was a mint-new gold sovereign. Without
another word, Dad dropped it down the mast-step, then waved the crane operator to lower away. As the mast settled on the step, Terry’s men attached the stays and started to tighten them. The riggers adjusted the rig, and the crane hook was released. The boom was swung into place, and the crane hoisted the sails on board. Terry raised a faint smile as the last of the fittings clipped together and the rig stood unaided.

‘You’d better take her to sea!’ he yelled, as the last of the tools were transferred back to shore.

Dad looked up at the crisp new mainsail and nodded. ‘Let’s go!’

‘I’ll follow in my chase boat,’ Terry called over the roar of the crowd and the blast of horns from the waiting flotilla.

Mum and Millie joined Mic on the deck. A mixture of friends, yachties and the Americans scrambled aboard, all keen to have the first ride on
Erewhon.
Those who were there to help quickly came to the fore, and the rest kept out of the way.

Looney’s barge was buzzing with excitement as Mic nodded to Paint to start the engine. She signalled him to go astern, and eased the yacht away from the wharf out into clear water, before turning the bow down-harbour. The flotilla cleared a path and joined in astern.

It was a slow trip, but it gave us time to get everything set as A Buoy came into view. The excitement was mounting as Mic called to Paint to slow the engine. He slipped it into neutral, and
Erewhon
glided to a halt as she turned, head to wind.

Mic beckoned Dad to the wheel. ‘Jim, your yacht awaits her skipper.’

Dad grinned and stepped up. ‘Hoist the main!’ he yelled.

The giant sail rattled up the mast as four of us ground for all we were worth. There was now a light breeze puffing in from the northeast, and
Erewhon
sat nicely into the wind.

I looked up as the huge sail shimmered in the afternoon sun, cracking back and forth as we prepared to unfurl the jib. Dad eased the helm down, and
Erewhon
ghosted forward, a roar rising from the gaggle of support craft. ‘Jib on!’ Dad called, and the winches hummed. ‘Main on!’ he called, as
Erewhon
heeled in the light breeze, and we headed for the gulf.
Erewhon
eased away from the following yachts as Dad gripped the wheel tightly, and everybody cheered. The rig creaked as the load increased, and Paint switched the auxiliary off.

Hepi moved to the stern and stood by the backstay, uncharacteristically subdued. Dad glanced over his shoulder to check on the following flotilla and noticed the strange look on his best friend’s face. He signalled to Mic to take over the helm, then walked past Sam’s casket to see what was bothering Hepi.

‘What’s the trouble? You’re looking a bit green around the gills.’

‘I was fine until you hoisted that bloody thing,’ he replied, pointing to the mainsail.

‘You’re not going to chuck on me, are you?’

‘Not bloody funny, Bollocks, especially in front of all your toffy friends,’ Hepi said, pointing to the trailing armada. ‘Never been bloody crook on a boat in me bloody life,’ Hepi lamented. ‘Must have been something I bloody ate!’

Mic had noticed Dad and Hepi on the counter-stern and handed the helm to me so she could join them. She was more sympathetic, telling him that her great-grandfather had had the same problem when
Erewhon
was under sail. Mum went below to find the medical kit and returned with a pill and a glass of water.

‘I don’t know if you’re supposed to mix this with alcohol,’ she said, as she handed over the tablet, ‘but I suppose we’re about to find out.’

Hepi washed it down, then sat on the deck. Dad sat with him, and Mic returned to my side.

TJ, who had been on the foredeck to give our scratch crew advice, joined us. I was enjoying the sense of immense power that came with being in control of such a large vessel.

‘Keep all your movements smooth,’ Mic advised me, as we headed along the East Coast Bays shoreline.

‘She’s real responsive!’ TJ commented. ‘Can’t wait for that race. I need some decent opposition. The others on the circuit don’t know how to sail properly.’

‘You’ll know you have been in a race by the time we’ve finished,’ Dad said, as he joined us at the wheel.

TJ nodded. ‘I’ll talk to the boss and see if we can bring
Valhalla
back down here before the next Cup. Two years is too long to wait.’

‘Bring her on down!’ Dad bellowed.

I looked over the stern. The yachts in the fleet, including some of the gun harbour racers, were disappearing into the distance, and only the launches capable of planing were able to stay in touch. I looked at the speedo. We were doing ten knots. I looked at the wind telemetry, and it was saying nine knots. I turned to Mic and TJ. ‘How is that possible?’ I asked.

‘Remember what I told you? Big boats create their own environment, and with tuning I reckon you’ll find another half-knot,’ TJ said.

‘I reckon we can find at least another knot,’ Mic whispered.

‘I’m in trouble if you can!’ TJ replied.

I looked back towards the stern. Hepi was now lying face-down on the deck with his head over the stern. Mum went back to see if she could help, but he waved her away.

Looney, who’d been struggling to keep up, broke ranks, and the barge headed towards Tiritiri Island, with the slower boats
following. Mic took over the wheel, and I went forward with TJ, Patty, Jackie, Matt and the crew to man the grinders. Off Torbay, Mic called for a tack and bellowed at the top of her voice, ‘Helm over!’
Erewhon
eased around head to wind, and the huge boom swung overhead. With no running backstays, the manoeuvre was simple, and the winches screamed as the sheets were cranked on. Everyone moved to the weather rail, and
Erewhon
quickly settled on the port tack.

Terry Espie and his crew in their chase boat drew up alongside, and over the roar of his engine Terry shouted his approval of the rig. ‘Reckon we might put an extra set of spreaders out to the side-stays to stiffen the lower mast a little. It’ll give you some more power,’ he yelled.