A Yacht Called Erewhon (22 page)

TJ shrugged his shoulders. ‘I’m in trouble if he can find you more power as simply as that, and with no running backstays…Your Maori friend doesn’t look too happy.’

‘Oh, he’s just maintaining tradition. He’ll be all right as soon as we put him on shore,’ Dad chuckled. He looked at his watch and turned to look at Sam’s casket. ‘Time to set you free, my old friend,’ he said. He looked off the starboard bow to see where Looney had headed. ‘Ease the sheets and head over to where Looney is standing,’ he said to Mic.

‘Ease the jib,’ she called.

‘You’d swear your crew had been together for years,’ TJ said, as he watched the Kiwis spring into action.

‘Ease the main car,’ Mic barked, before giving a wry smile. Heading downwind, we picked up speed at an astonishing rate, and
Erewhon
’s bow rose out of the water. ‘Listen!’ Mic called, as we blasted along. We all turned to look at her. ‘Listen!’ she repeated. ‘Can’t you hear that?’

We were all straining our ears to hear what she was talking about, when TJ nodded. ‘The hum?’ he asked.

‘Yes!’ she replied. ‘She hasn’t lost it. Nana said you want to
hear that when the wind gets up. She says when you hear it, you know she’s in the slot!’

Hepi sat up on the stern. ‘You feeling better, Fatman?’ Dad asked.

‘Nah, Bollocks, just got nothing left inside me to chuck. Still feel like crap!’

‘We’ll put you on the barge when we get close,’ Dad continued.

Looney’s barge loomed up quickly, and Mic spun
Erewhon
head to wind just to leeward of the waiting crowd. Paint restarted the engine as the mainsail dropped down the mast and the jib was furled.
Erewhon
eased to a stop, and at that very moment the wind dropped. The ocean quickly became oily calm, and the whole scene became eerie as
Erewhon
rafted to the barge. The other yachts and launches came alongside, and the crowd hushed.

Hepi stepped off the yacht as Harry Castleton transferred aboard and took up his position beside the casket. Millie stood and beckoned Mum and Dad to stand beside her. Millie reached out and hugged Dad. ‘Thank you, Jim,’ she said. ‘Sam would have enjoyed his last sail.’

Harry cleared his throat and proceeded with the service. After a prayer, he asked, ‘Would anyone like to say anything?’

The crowd hushed.

‘In that case, I think it’s time to sing Psalm 23, followed by the committal, as we lower Sam into the ocean.’

Chalky Smallfield stood and tapped his baton on the music stand. He raised his hand, and music gently flowed across the glass-calm water. I clipped the halyard to the end of the boom and attached it to slings around the casket. Dad gave the signal, and a couple of the crew winched the boom up, lifting the casket clear of its stands. The crowd joined in, and we gently swung the coffin out over the rail.

I gave the weights and the drilled holes that would take the dinghy to the seabed a quick check and nodded to Dad. The music gradually faded, Harry’s voice grew louder as he read the committal, and the crew lowered away. The dinghy floated clear of the slings and drifted away from the yacht.

The sun was now low in the western sky, and the red glow silhouetted the dinghy as it slowly slipped under the surface.

A lone gannet landed in the water beside the dinghy just as the bow rose and was gone. The sun dipped below the horizon, and in the twilight the gannet ran across the calm water and was airborne. It circled the fleet twice, then climbed into the darkening eastern sky.

Millie smiled. ‘He’s free,’ she whispered. ‘No more pain, and he knows his pride and joy will live on. Thank you, everyone. Now please take me home, Jim.’

B
y ten the next morning, everyone who was keen was waiting at the jetty. Looney had disappeared during the night; nothing had changed there.

Erewhon
had been set up so she could be sailed by twenty hands, but that morning we ferried thirty out to the waiting yacht. Those who hadn’t made it as the first crew soon found launches and other yachts to take them out, and the entourage moved into the upper harbour.

Hepi made himself welcome on the commodore’s barge, as he had no desire to repeat yesterday’s performance. TJ and the girls readied themselves to help with the sailing, and we welcomed their experience. Mic took up her position at the helm.

‘Don’t know if we should be letting the opposition on board again, do you, Ben?’ Dad said to me, grinning as he looked at Patty and Jackie.

‘Don’t worry,’ I called back. ‘I’m in the process of negotiating to have them as part of our permanent crew.’

‘Their contract with me is watertight!’ TJ boomed.

‘Nothing is that watertight,’ Dad chimed in. ‘Let’s get the lady sailing today and worry about those deals tomorrow.’

As we edged into the upper harbour, the crew was becoming excited. The breeze had filled in nicely from the southwest.

‘Hoist the main!’ Mic called. She signalled to Paint to throttle back on the auxiliary. ‘Leave it idling ahead until we have the
sails set. It’ll help us keep the head into the wind.’

Paint obeyed without question, as the day before had been the first time he’d ever been on a yacht. He’d enjoyed himself and wanted desperately to be part of the crew.

Patty and Jackie joined the rest of the willing helpers on deck. They let the boys show off on the grinders, knowing full well that it’s about technique, not just grunt. When the boys flagged, the girls took over, leaving the boys watching with their mouths open while the Yankee chicks ground the main to the top. As the halyard was cleated off, they turned and smiled. ‘You Kiwis are soft!’ they chorused.

Mic called for the headsail. The sails flogged back and forth, as the crew tried to regain some self-respect, not letting the girls near the grinders again.

As Mic pulled the bow down, she signalled to Paint to shut down the engine.
Erewhon
heeled to port, and the rig groaned as the load went on. The yacht leaped forward, and the following flotilla kept well clear as we put in two short tacks to clear Kauri Point.

I was quietly relieved when we were able to ease the sheets and head down-harbour past the Meola Reef.

‘Do you want to try the spinnaker?’ Mic asked, as Dad watched the speed of the water disappearing off the stern.

‘What, this not fast enough for you?’ he said, as the speedo was already pressing sixteen knots.

‘Never fast enough!’

Dad walked forward. ‘Do you lot feel happy about setting the spinnaker?’ he asked.

‘Too right!’ everyone standing on the deck chorused.

‘What about the gybe around North Head?’

‘No sweat!’ Patty and Jackie replied together.

‘OK, let’s do it, and I’ll get Commodore Bob to take Hepi ahead to get some pictures.’

As the spinnaker raced to the masthead, Dad radioed to Bob Sorenson to get ahead so that Hepi could take photographs as
Erewhon
passed under the main span of the harbour bridge. Bob loved an excuse to crack open the throttles and, with a shower of spray and an enormous wake, managed to get on the city side of the bridge as
Erewhon
blasted through.

The spinnaker filled with an enormous crack, and she leaped on top of the water, her hull riding up on the bowwave. The crew went silent as the speedo climbed rapidly. Mic was beaming as the wharves flashed by.

TJ scrambled back along the deck to stand alongside Dad. ‘How much do you want for her? I’ll get my boss to write a cheque for you today!’ he said.

Dad continued to gaze alternately at the giant rig, over the stern, and then under the main boom, without answering TJ. ‘Bloody hell!’ he finally bellowed. ‘Reckon we should prepare for that gybe now. We’ll be running into Rangitoto Island soon if we don’t!’

‘Don’t worry, Jim, I’ll call it with plenty of time,’ Mic replied.

‘I’m not kidding about the cheque,’ TJ continued. ‘I’m going to have to do some serious work on
Valhalla
to cut it with this baby!’

Dad relaxed enough to raise a smile, but didn’t take his eyes off proceedings. The speedo was pushing twenty-two knots. None of the entourage could keep pace.

‘Listen!’ Mic called above the din. ‘The hum!’

Everybody stopped talking as the bow cleaved the harbour and the wake roared like rapids off the stern.

‘Ready to gybe!’ Mic called, which refocused everybody’s attention. ‘Pole over!’

The inner pole end shot up the mast as I headed for the bow. The operation went smoothly, and I switched the sheets as
the outer end of the pole whizzed past my shins.
Thank heavens for the America’s Cup boys and their improvements to yachting gear
, I thought to myself. The spinnaker cracked, as the pole dropped into position and the port sheet took the load. The grinders buzzed as the main flopped over.

Mic squared away to run out into the gulf. Dad breathed a sigh of relief as everybody settled down on the windward rail. Mic let out a shriek as the speedo crossed the twenty-five knot barrier—there was no holding
Erewhon.

‘At this speed we’ll be at Great Barrier Island in half an hour,’ I said to Mic, as I crept back to stand beside her.

‘Nana says she’s faster with the new rig than she ever was,’ she whispered to me.

At this moment, TJ approached Dad. ‘Well, Jim, have you considered my offer? How much do you want?’

‘Sorry, TJ, she’s not for sale.’

‘If you change your mind, can I have the first refusal?’

Dad nodded and thrust out his burly hand in TJ’s direction, ‘That’s a deal, but don’t hold your breath!’

He looked over the stern. The entourage was nearly out of sight, and Tiritiri lighthouse was off the stern quarter. ‘Do we give her a workout upwind?’ he asked Mic.

She looked up at the rig and then over her shoulder. ‘Yes,’ she replied, ‘I think there’s enough water back there to give her a decent test. Let’s do it!’

All spare hands hustled up onto the deck, as preparations were made to down the spinnaker.
Erewhon
was fitted with a launcher, and this made the mammoth task a lot easier. Eager hands helped guide the billowing sail down the tube and dealt with the pole and sheets. Patty and Jackie flew around the foredeck and then returned aft to assist on the grinders. My mates were reluctant to let them near the winches, so they offered encouragement as the main and jib were cranked on.
The boat speed had dropped dramatically, but now she heeled in the fresh breeze and the speed began to climb. Running downwind, I hadn’t noticed the seaway that had built up, and now the bow was biting into the waves and the spray was flying. The rig groaned as we bounced into each swell, but Mic didn’t back off. She called for more tension on the mainsail, and the grinders obliged. TJ stood with his eyes firmly fixed on the speedo, and then he turned to Dad.

‘Jim, now I’m worried! Sixteen knots on the wind, and your rigger reckons he can find you some more power!’

‘You ain’t seen nothing yet!’ Mic called above the hubbub, as
Erewhon
crashed through another swell. ‘Ready about!’ she ordered, and we all jumped to assist with the grinders. She waited for the bow to start rising, then called, ‘’Bout oh!’

Erewhon
crashed through the turn and was quickly up to speed on the port tack.

‘Offer still stands, Jim!’ TJ called.

‘Not for sale, old son, not for sale!’

Mic signalled to Dad to take over the helm and stepped up to the wheel. As she handed over, she pressed her mouth to his ear. ‘Nana says, steer her on the hum,’ she whispered. ‘You’re not looking for the loudest sound—you’re looking for the sweetest note.’

Mic retook the wheel with one hand while Dad gripped as well. She eased the helm up and down until the audible sound changed to the pitch she was looking for. ‘There—that’s it,’ she said, as she let go of the wheel.

Dad eased the wheel up and down until he thought the note was right.

‘You’ve got it,’ she said, with delight.

Erewhon
quickly made it back to where the entourage had gathered, and although none of the crew on board wanted to leave, some of them traded places to allow others to have a
turn.
Erewhon
raced around the gulf, and the more everyone got used to the gear, the sharper she looked.

The wind increased and the loads went on the rig, but the mast seemed capable of handling the conditions, until Dad called for more pressure on the boom vang to counteract a slight downwind roll. The unit announced it wasn’t strong enough in a dramatic fashion—the pressed fitting at the boom end pulled apart with a bang. Fortunately, nobody was within range of the flailing remains. Patty, Jackie and the rest of the crew were quickly on the foredeck to retrieve the spinnaker so we could get back on the wind to get the main boom under control.

With the grinders humming, the massive boom was reined in, and we headed for home. Matt and I rigged a temporary vang as the rest of the crew ground on the jib sheets. We were pretty pleased with our damage control as once again the speed started to climb.

‘Well!’ said Dad, as we settled in for the slog back to the harbour. ‘The Espie team have a job to do in the morning, and I might see if they can fit those lower spreaders at the same time. I hope it doesn’t take long,’ he continued, looking in Paint’s direction. ‘I’ve promised your iwi an exclusive day out next weekend.’

Paint picked up the remains of the broken vang and placed it on the cockpit deck. He studied it at length and grunted, ‘Bloody amateurs!’

‘What do you mean?’ Dad quizzed.

‘That fitting wouldn’t hold Pussy!’ he replied. ‘When I was staying at the Big House, we made stays for a bridge, twice as strong and half the weight of that, and I guarantee you wouldn’t pull them apart!’

Dad looked at Paint. ‘Reckon you could fix that one?’

‘No sweat!’

‘Then that’s your first job Monday morning!’

Dad had agreed to put
Erewhon
on display at the America’s Cup village, and now that our mooring at the back of the farm wasn’t an option, this was the logical alternative. We tacked around North Head and cranked the jib along the starboard rail. With the calmer water,
Erewhon
rapidly gained speed, and we flew up the harbour.

‘That’ll do for today,’ Dad shouted, as Mic spun the head to wind to stand off Prince’s Wharf. Paint hit the starter, and the engine flashed into life as the jib was being furled. The mainsail rattled down the mast as we laid the sail on the boom and squared the deck. Mic pointed the bow for the gap in the seawall, and on her instruction Paint eased the throttle ahead.

Mic guided
Erewhon
gracefully through the entrance of Viaduct Basin, unperturbed by the whistles and cheers from a gathering crowd. Paint feathered the throttle at her command, and the gleaming hull eased to a stop alongside the jetty.

The setting sun reflected off the polished brass fittings, as the crowd on the dock buzzed, wondering where the yacht might have come from. The New Zealand ensign fluttering on the stern added to the confusion, and Patty and Jackie’s accents compounded the guessing game.

Mic continued to ignore the whistles from the maledominated crowd, as she moved around the deck checking that everything was stowed. Bob Sorenson and a couple of the other launches entered the Basin and rafted up to
Erewhon.
They were going to ferry us back home that night. With everything shipshape and the jetty security gate locked, we all piled onto the launches for the trip up the harbour.

I sat down on the stern of Commodore Bob’s launch. This
was the first time I’d had leisure to ponder my future, and it didn’t take long for Mum to notice I wasn’t my usual self.

‘What’s up?’ she asked, as she sat down beside me.

‘Nothing,’ I replied.

‘Face doesn’t say nothing!’

I watched the phosphorescence-laden wake disappear into the dark. Finally, I muttered that now Sam was gone and
Erewhon
was back in the water, I was redundant. Mum put her arm around my shoulder.

‘Jim!’ she said, and Dad came over to join us.

‘What’s up?’ he boomed.

‘Ben’s worried that now Sam’s gone and
Erewhon
’s back in the water, he’s redundant.’

‘Redundant, bullshit!
Erewhon
needs a boatmaster. Reckon you better get your ticket if you want the job!’ He turned and walked back to stand with Bob. ‘Bloody kids,’ he muttered. ‘Want you to do all their thinking for them!’

Boatmaster
, I thought,
boatmaster of Erewhon.
I didn’t need to think long about that and turned back to Mum.

‘Do you want the job?’ she asked.

‘Do fish swim in the ocean?’ I replied, with a grin.

‘Well, then, no more glum faces!’

I nodded with a smile and sat back on the seat. Patty, who’d been talking to Matt and Jackie, joined me, and nuzzled against me as my mind raced. She was thrilled at my new appointment, but was also sad that she, TJ and Jackie were on their way home that evening.

After a meal and a change of clothes, they climbed into a taxi for the trip to the airport. It had been great having their experience on
Erewhon
’s first outings. Patty promised to e-mail me, and Matt made similar arrangements with Jackie. TJ made one last attempt to buy
Erewhon
, but settled for a long, lingering kiss from Mic.