I had been in New Zealand a couple of months and was starting to feel a bit guilty that, having flown halfway around the world, I hadn't made any attempt to meet my pal Loonytunes.

It looked like being a splendid day out, with clear blue skies and strong winds blasting into the bay from the land. The water was sparkling in the sunshine, with not much in the way of waves, and rested after our exertions we were all eager to go play. There was a lot of crew-swapping going on, guests and friends joining boats, and we were hosting Vice Commodore Cuddles plus a couple of others.

Looking back there are only two things that really stand about that morning's sailing - one is being mildly terrified, and the other is being right to be terrified!

The first part was OK, we simply sailed the boat upwind with the rail underwater and our oversize crew leaning off the other side of the boat to try and keep us somewhere within sight of vertical. But as we approached the mark I knew I was in for the ride of my life and, as usual, it was Sniffy's fault:

'Get the bag up mate', he said innocently, by which means the spinnacker, the parachute. In wind gusting close to 30kts! I'm mildly concerned, and he knew it. I could tell he knew by the way he grinned as he added 'the small one'. Yeah, right! B*****d again!

I've seen a photo of a bigger boat than ours with the hull vertical and the crew in mid-air after digging the bow into a wave with the bag set in a big wind. But what the hell. This is New Zealand, and I joined up for excitement, so I just grin weakly back and go fetch.

The hoist went surprisingly well in 29kts of wind and, for a few moments, I was too busy with my spaghetti and sails to really take any notice of what was going on. Then I went aft, hastened by calls to get my meagre weight off the bow before something bad happened. The rest of the crew were clustered behind the helmsman, all of them, even the guy trimming the 'chute. Normally he would be somewhere up by the mast but today he's as far back as possible and Sharyn is grinding his winch at arm's length so as to avoid going further forward than necessary.

Everyone else is basically perched on the lifelines at the stern, leaning back and clinging on with white knuckles as Distraction rockets forward at over 13kts. This is a boat that's doing well if it reaches 8kts, exceeding its own design limits by the simple expedient of jumping out of the water and 'surfing' across the surface.

The noise is tremendous: a kind of surging, roaring, and sucking sound that tells you you're doing something quite extraordinary that could come to a catastrophic end at any moment. We're all grinning idiotically at each other, wild-eyed, high on adrenalin, exulting and rejoicing as we skip across the sparkling blue with the sun in our eyes and the wind at our backs.

Fighting back the screams we hurtle downwind, and somehow get the bag down again as we round the mark, then we're facing another slog back 'uphill'. It's really windy now and the boat is still pushing the limits as she drives as close to the wind as possible. We're heeled way over, enormous side forces on the sails and rig, just asking for trouble really, and it's not really surprising that something failed under those circumstances.

It was the headsail. One minute we're charging along excitingly, the next it has ripped into two pieces, held together by the extra seam at the luff. I run forward and start to haul it down, while someone else dives below to grab a replacement. It was quite an amazingly choreographed piece of work really. As soon I had the torn sail clear of the forestay two hands snatched it from me and I was able to start hanking on the new one that had miraculously appeared by my side. And while I was doing that someone else was taking care of the sheets that control it.

All I had to do was dive back to the mast, grab the halyard, and haul the sail up but, at that moment, our faultless performance turned almost to farce because I tripped and fell into the water!

I remember a moment of peace, like I always get when I hit the ocean and mentally 'switch gears', then I realised what had happened. Although I was now completely underwater I was still on the boat. We were so far heeled over that the 'lower' part of the deck was awash and I was stretched out full length against the stanchions - in no danger of going anywhere and I still had the halyard in my hands!

Whether I actually thought about it clearly is debatable, but I would have had to let go of the halyard in order to get a hold of something else to pull myself up. On the other hand I had managed to grab a lungful of air on my way down, was in no immediate danger, and would be able to pull myself up using the halyard as soon as it was pulled tight.

And so two hands rose out of the water and started hauling up the new headsail. Actually it was quite a pleasant and peaceful few moments, lying down at last in a warm and luminous blue ether that caressed my body from head to foot while my hands worked unhurriedly away at pulling on a rope that seemed to have no end. Time telescoped and the experience seemed to go on forever.

Suddenly the rope went taught, and I exploded back into the real world to stand there dripping with an idiotic grin on my face and the sea swirling round my knees at 8kts. Magic.

We pulled out of the race on the grounds that we had a long sail home and there was no need to go breaking gear (or crewmembers) we couldn't really afford to replace. I called the loony and he met us at the dock again with a bewildered-looking taxi driver in tow. For some reason all the taxi drivers in Napier know their nude arm-wrestling champ, which makes it really easy to get to his house if you don't know the address, and it also makes it easy for him to get special favours.

In this case the special favour was to carry an enormous box containing mixers and ice to complement all the bottles of rum we now had on board. In next to no time we had collected a bunch more 'non-combatants', trussed them up in life jackets, thrust drinks into their hands, and turned around to watch the action in the bay up close and personal. I would like to think that I repaid loonytunes for his hospitality that day by treating him to the sight of a racing yacht emblazoned with the 'Team New Zealand' logo slicing by within, if not spitting distance, then at least cat-calling distance, which is almost as much fun.

Sport of Kings - Part One
Sport of Kings - Part Two

stragbasher

21.08.03 Front Page

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