As we rounded Ninepin Point, a tiny white speck flickered between the waves. Getting closer, we found ourselves in the wake of Oyster, Ian McConaghy’s H28 sloop. She was still under sail and keeping us at bay. Back on the port tack, it felt as if the weather was beginning to abate – the wind had dropped back to 30 knots, the seas were hardly as ferocious, and the Huon Estuary was in sight. But we were still on a losing tack, as nice as the Verona Sands shoreline is, it was getting a little close.
It appeared as if the job of tacking was about to come a little more frequent – so I relinquished my warm, cosy corner of the doghouse and made a mistake that I probably deserved by staying warm for a good ten minutes. Just at the moment that I poked my head out, a good amount of spray decided to call my face home, and yet again, I couldn’t wait to get to bloody Cygnet.
As we approached Garden Island, Oyster disappeared around the point and we were alone again. No yachts in sight on such a forbidding day really makes you feel isolated. On this thought, I decided it was soup time. Since Gordon, Ben and I had been munching by the handful, a good size block of chocolate, the ultimate comfort food. But as the amount of foil overtook the amount of chocolate, I headed down below.
There is a suspicion onboard Saona, that whenever the gas is turned on, it sparks a change in the weather – and this race was no different. Having stumbled my way down the hatch, I became well acquainted with both the port and starboard cupboards as I played a game of chasings against cabin. Once wedged in between the stairs, sink, stove and engine cavity, I managed to light the stove and get some warmth happening! Cup-a-soups are possibly the best form of hot foodstuff in these situations, but as I opened the cupboards, the pain of having dry wooden decks before a wet race dawned upon me. Pulling apart sopping wet boxes, I found something appetising and chucked it in the storm mug, another great invention. Before pulling back the hatch, I used my head and checked for rogue waves before making a quick dash around the deck, checking headsails and sheets, then jumping back into the doghouse before the weather beats me to it.
Now coming past Eggs and Bacon Bay, the weather was definitely calming. As we adjusted our course north, the wind followed our every move, so for yet another tack, we were punching into a headwind – albeit half what we had earlier. But now we had some company ahead of us, three white sails more vertical than horizontal, something we hadn’t seen since leaving the marina.
20 knots of wind soon became 15, then 14, 13, 12, 11, 10, and finally 8.8 right on the beam. Saona stood up straight, looking quite conservative still having a reefed main. As the reef was shaken out, the wind piped up again, 18 knots at 60 degrees. A huge smile lit up Ben’s face as he freed sheets and watched the speedo surge. We even joked about doing 8.5 knots over the line with a bone in her teeth! I don’t know whether it was my excitement, or just mother nature toying with us, but the wind dropped again and we had a good 7 knots right on the nose.
We were in sight of the moored fleet, and what confronted us now was just as daunting as anything out where we came from – a bay without a breath of wind. I remembered what I was told one time at the Club; “anyone can sail when there’s wind, but only true sailors can sail without.” As we slipped our way through the millpond, and the line edged closer and closer, by some miracle we didn’t stop. Then out of nowhere, a squall of about 3 knots gave us enough way on to tack – what a stupid decision! Countless times we have waited and hoped for a lift, and eventually got it, but we bit our tongues and tried to tack about 200 yards from the buoy.
Tacks on Saona are slow as a given, but this one felt like an eternity. With Phil Jeffs and Brian Wilson in the box, there was nowhere to hide, and all we could do was laugh at how stupid our situation was. Finally, the weather ceased to mock us and gave us the final puff we needed to get over the line.
I can assure you, that I have never been so glad to pull down, fold and pack those big, red sails. Then waiting in the doghouse, still drenched, but so relieved, for the water taxi to find us, was a moment to savour. The sense of achievement was amazing, the sheer feeling of relief to be moored and the ‘smell’ of the Port Cygnet air just made that whole race an event to remember.
On the second day, the winds were far lighter, but still Saona managed to pull through the crowded waters of Port Cygnet. Once back at the rooms, the crowd gathered for the prizes, and the fun continued.
Our performance on Day 1 and Day 2, had netted us two firsts on handicap – we were both speechless. As Ben was presented with some very nice prizes, you couldn’t wipe the smile off either of our faces – it was a great experience. To cap it all off, we were given the title of ‘Best Vintage Yacht’ combined with ‘Overall Regatta Winner’, sailing back to Kettering with a new found bounty, and a huge amount of pride in ourselves. Cygnet ’09 was a regatta to remember.
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