Sunday 25 November 2012

Messing about in Boats - Part II

Delinquent Adventures continued
Sorry about the delay in posting this conclusion. Due to adverse circumstances, like limited access to the net courtesy of Telstra, I was not able to write last week's blog.
However, here we go with the continuing saga of Delinquent.
After our first misadventures trying to reach Geographe Bay we set out again a few weeks later to make good on our promise to ourselves to visit Busselton.
Well, the gods of the sea had other ideas, once more. Once we reached the channel between Rottnest and Carnac Island to enter the Indian Ocean proper and head south a fierce south-south-westerly came up that pushed us more backwards than forwards.
With little room to tack I decided it would be prudent to turn around and head for Thompson Bay at Rottnest to wait for better weather.
We practically flew into Thompson's and found a nice little spot to drop anchor. Being quite protected from the winds there we spent a lovely afternoon lazing about, swimming and cooking up some good food on our tine little stove in the galley.
The weather didn't abate at all, but we were quite content to stay at Rottnest and enjoy the early summer weather. Little did we know that our daughter hit panic stations after two days of not hearing from us and alerted the authorities! We even scored a write-up in The West Australian newspaper headlined 'Couple lost at Sea'!
Them were the days when nobody had a mobile or cell phone. One had to row ashore to use a public phone box to inform relatives of ones whereabouts. That required effort (swimming ashore, we had no dinghy then) and loose change to operate the phone.
On the third day in the bay a police boat pulled up to our little ship and inquired whether this was Delinquent and so on. Well, they gave me a bollocking and took me off my ship to the main jetty to call our distressed daughter. In the end everything was good and we enjoyed our mini holiday.
Jurien Bay 'Marina'
Not being deterred by these minor mishaps we decided to go north instead just after Christmas. We figured that would be a better alternative to battling the strong south-westerlies. Our aim was to reach Jurien Bay.
We set off late in the morning, preparations always take longer than one anticipates, and head north. By early evening we made Cervantes, then a little fishing village about half-way between Hillarys and Jurien Bay. We pulled in there and anchored for the night. Next day we had no problem making Jurien Bay by early afternoon. Docking alongside the main jetty I went in search of the harbour master to be allocated a berth. No worries he said and described which berth we could use. He was thoughtful enough to caution: "Mind the strong sea breeze, approach in a wide arch and have your engine in reverse. The wind will push you in anyway, just grab the rope from the outboard pylon to stop you and be ready to throw a rope to whoever is on the jetty to stop you from hitting other boats."
Worked like charm, we got into the berth and tied up, wind blowing in the cockpit like crazy but it was still enjoyable.
The plan was to spend two nights there and then sail back to Perth for New Years eve. The weather, however, had different ideas.  Five times we tried to leave only to be pushed back towards Jurien again and again. We tried early morning, middle of the night and anytime in between - all to no avail.
Gave us a great opportunity to get to know most of the crayfishermen on our jetty and have some great yarns with them and share a few beers.
On Jnauary 2 I woke up about 4 AM because there was an eerie stillness and humid smell in the air. I woke the deckhand (the good lady wife) and said: "Stow everything and get ready in ten minutes, we're out of here!" Sleepyhead stumbled about stowing and securing things below deck, in between asking: "What about breakfast?", whilst I got things organised above deck. "Stuff breakfast, we can have that later!"
And off we went, motoring out of the harbour, hoisting sails and heading south. A lovely north-north-westerly had sprung up by then. I put the sails 'wing on wing' and we were just surfing down the coast.
The deckhand prepared some breakfast and we enjoyed the rapid progress.
Didn't even bother to stop at Cervantes since we made such good headway. We reached Hillarys by about 8 PM - no mean feat for a 28 foot yacht covering about 110 nautical miles in that time.
And here comes what you've all been waiting for - the guaranteed cure for seasickness:
  STAND UNDER A TREE !

Sunday 11 November 2012

Messing about in Boats & guaranteed cure for seasickness

Keeping one foot on the PLUG !
This blog spans several decades and two continents. You'll need to read the entire story to get the guaranteed cure for seasickness as there is a price for everything - NO free lunches here!
My first 'boating' experience was on on the river Dahme in Neue Muehle (refer to earlier blogs) in a wooden wash trough stealthily 'borrowed' from Mum.
The problem with that contraption was that it had a plughole and plug - designed to keep the water in the trough! Putting it in the water meant there was pressure from underneath against the plug, which promptly popped out and the contraption was flooded.
The trick was to keep one heel on the darned plug to stay reasonably dry.

Going upmarket in the boating caper
The second occasion was messing around in my uncles paddle boat. Much more civilised and drier, unless we, my mates and I, deliberately capsized it just for fun - the things 11 year old boys will do. An absolutely marvellous example of old-fashioned workmanship. A hand-built clinker version from the early 1930's, all varnished and virtually unsinkable!

After these episodes a few years went by, involving 'escaping' from East Germany to West Berlin. Once settled there, I did eventually scrape together enough money to buy a blow-up kayak to use on the big lake at Tegel.
Between a Rock and a hard place
The lake has two islands in it plus many reed-covered shores where one could paddle into and hide.
The reason for the blow-up version was that it could be deflated and packed into a neat round pouch that had large enough handles to carry it like a rucksack. Since we lived in a small two-room flat on the third floor, storage of the boat was a prime consideration - commercial boat storage was on the far side of my budget.
The money for the blow-up boat came from delivering newspapers very early in the morning before school and later serving an apprenticeship in a hardware store.

Once I debunked West Berlin in early 1962, first to Bad Godesberg near Bonn and then to Copenhagen, the boating caper experienced something of  hiatus.
It was not picked-up again till our arrival in Perth. Time and money were the main deterrents up till then, plus I was rather busy building a weekend cabin in the hills north of Melbourne.

The 48 hours wonder!
Once settled in Perth we ventured forth to purchase a real boat! Well, a third-hand decommissioned cray boat anyway.
The boat was moored in the Canning river on a mooring the dealer from whom we bought it owned. Purchased on Friday, went on it on Saturday to make an endless list of what was needed to make it halfway habitable, had a picnic lunch and left late in the afternoon.
With boats one always makes endless lists of things that need fixing or improving - hence the saying: "A boat is a hole in the water that one pours once money into".
Got a phone call early Sunday morning from the dealer with the cheerful news: "Mate, your boat has sunk!"  Raced down there to have a look - only the bow was sticking out of the water.
Got onto the insurance company Monday morning to get it sorted. Late Monday afternoon I got a call from a policeman from the diving squad: "Mate, you want to sell that sunken boat?" Told him it was in the hands of the insurance company. By Wednesday I got a call from the insurance company that they would pay out the sum insured, they had found a buyer on an as is, where is basis, which suited them just fine.
By the following weekend the boat was afloat, being towed to a shipyard for repairs - makes one wonder who did what to whom?!
The mighty Swordfish
The dealer had another boat moored there that caught our eye. Her name was Swordfish, she was a 32 ft brute of a thing, but very, very comfortable. Large wheelhouse cum saloon, good size forward cabin that slept three. A motor-sailer with a 75 hp Ford diesel engine, the list goes on. BUT she required some maintenance! Spent the best years of my life for a full week down at Fremantle Slipways repainting her. Grinding off all the anti fouling and starting again - a true labour of love.

We had Swordfish for a few years, moored up at Yanchep Marina and mainly being used as a weekend cabin. She was just too big and cumbersome for two 'feeble' people to sail. So we sold her to a guy that sailed her all the way up to Wyndham, in the far north-west of Western Australia.
May-Maid the magnificent
We looked for something more manageable and came across 'Mary Maid' - a 21 ft day sailer. Lovely wooden boat she was, except for one weakness. She reminded me of my first vessel - leaked like a sieve!
We had some good times in her on the Swan River, but one always had to have a spare hand on board to do the bailing. That got somewhat tiresome in the end and we looked for an alternative. Along it came in the guise of a good mate of mine who owned an 18 ft Red jacket that he was not entirely happy with. We did a straight swap - he got a leaking boat and I got a sailboat, albeit somewhat cramped, that performed beautifully. The bonus was that it was on a trailer and we could keep her on our front lawn.
As was our wish, we had her a year or so and started thinking of something else in the boating department. We wanted a boat that was reasonably fast to make the crossing to Rottnest, a rather nice island off the coast of Perth. It had to be trailable yet be big enough to keep on a mooring in the Swan river for early evening put-puts during the week. We'd inherited the mooring from an acquaintance when we had Mary-Maid.
That was when we found the Swiftcraft Sportsman - a 21 ft power boat (or stink boat as I call them) with a cuddy cabin sleeping two, 175 hp Mercury stern drive and all the get-up and go one could desire. The Swiftcraft was quite a big, heavy boat AND we towed it with a Peugeot 504! Should have seen the looks on peoples faces at the boat ramps, especially when retrieving the beast. "You'll never pull that one up with that little four cylinder car, mate!" They had problems with smaller boats using Holdens or Falcons. Must say, never had a problem with old 'Henri' - - Peugeot's have a lot of grunt and know how to get the power to the rear wheels. Back the trailer in the water, winch the boat up onto it and then just pull away smoothly as anything.
Everything good comes to an end. In late 1983 we decided to return to Europe to see if we wanted to live there. Swiftcraft was sold, along with a lot of other possessions, and we made our way to Europe, mostly overland, starting in February 1984. It was great for a while, whilst it was 'new', but the novelty wore off and we returned to Australia in May 1987.
Nautilus the Invincible
Had to have a boat again! That was the first mission! Hunted around and found this pocket motor-sailer - the Nautilus (which is actually a brand name but we never called it anything else but that). She came on a trailer, but pooh! Too cumbersome to lug around. Parked the trailer at my works (we had no room for it where we were living then) and rented a pen (just like the big boys) at the brand new Hillaries Marina, where this picture was taken.
The little fellow turned out to be an exceptionally sturdy sea vessel, making the crossing to Rottnest numerous times in all weathers, including 45 knot winds! Being only 18 ft the accommodation was a little cramped, even though it was billed as a four berth trailer-sailer! Yeah, maybe four midgets? But - it was quite acceptable for two people for a short time. You can guess where this one is going. After about eighteen months messing about in Nautilus, she was by the way the best tuna boat I ever owned - we caught so many when they were running it was unbelievable - she had to make way for a real Yacht!
DELINQUENT - what an apt name
I searched high and low, on and off, till I came across DELINQUENT - a boat I just had to have. A 28 ft fibreglass ocean going boat. She was build in Essex in the UK and sailed out to Australia in the late 70's. Everything on her was build for blue water cruising - she even had a cabin heater to cope with those freezing English winters.
Nothing trailable here, she just slipped into the pen at Hillaries vacated by Nautilus.
She had two comfortable berth in the main cabin plus a pilot berth that was mainly used for stowage. She had a galley (very small) plus a proper chart table with night light and so on.
Some very 'exciting' journeys were had on Delinquent. Once, we set off to sail to Geographe Bay for a very long weekend. Well, clearing the islands off Perth one hell of an easterly storm blew up, leaving me with little choice but to furl all sails and run with the wind. Even under bare pole she was doing a good 9 knots, which is quite a feat for a relatively small boat. We headed west all night and as the wind abated somewhat towards morning I turned north. Getting my bearings I changed course to east-north-east and continued. We plodded along all day and into the next night. Eventually, at about 3 AM I saw the flashes from a lighthouse. Scrambling into the cabin to examine my tables and charts I figured out, from the sequence of the flashes, that it was the Guilderton lighthouse, well north of Perth. The wind having abated quite a bit, I hoisted some sail and changed course to the south-west. Eventually we reached Hillaries by mid-morning, quite chuffed with myself and starving to death. First orders were to tie up the boat and then cook up a storm in the tiny galley - bacon, eggs, tomatoes and toast, could have fed an army with the amount I made - but it was good!

AND - with this - the bane of time has caught up with me again, once more. My humble apologies, but I will have continue this tale in next week's blog. The guaranteed cure for seasickness will be at the top of the list for that blog - PROMISE.


Sunday 4 November 2012

First Taste of Danish - Part 3

Elsinore YH - with its own beach
On with the saga, and hopefully this will be the conclusion of this 'epic' journey.
Upon reaching Helsingoer (Elsinore of Hamlet fame) I checked into the local YH (Youth Hostel), one of the best hostels anywhere. It has it's own beach and faces the sound, splendid location.
Almost like living the life of the rich and famous. After settling in I had to go down to the beach (not many beaches in Berlin) to take in the sights and smells of the ocean. People everywhere, well ten or fifteen anyway, a glorious beach and the water - so clean and inviting. Except, when one stepped into it it was positively FREEZING. And there were some hardy folks taking dips! Them Danes are bred tough and a hardy lot - just think of the Vikings making open boat journeys to Iceland and North America. Got to be tough to survive that.
Second Taste of Danish
But, there were compensations! Found this chick (right) sitting on the beach. Having acquired a certain skill in chatting up birds over the past few weeks, I had to talk to her.
We got on famously and spent the rest of the day and evening together. Went to a park at night for some 'alone time', i.e. smooching and groping - very nice indeed.
Next day we made an excursion to Haelsingborg, on the ferry, the girl, Lise, wanted to show me the sights and attractions of the Swedish counterpart to Elsinore.
In the late afternoon Lise announced that she had to return to Copenhagen the next morning. Never being one to make rush decisions I said: "I'll come with you", not really thinking clearly that it would involve spending some money on a train ticket. But never mind, it was said and had to be done.
The following morning we boarded the train for the short ride to the capital. We chatted, held hands and generally carried on like teenagers do. Coming into the outskirts of the city Lise casually said: "Would you like to come to my place for lunch? I'm sure my parents wont mind".
Never one to pass up a free meal I readily agreed. We caught the tram from the railway station to Frederiksberg and walked the few steps to their abode. Her parents were a charming lot, didn't speak much German if any at all, but we got along famously. Her mother seemed totally unfazed by the appearance of another mouth for lunch. Her dad had to work the afternoon shift, thus it was really dinner rather than lunch. Her mum was very impressed with my appetite and the fact that I liked her cooking. She kept refilling my plate over and over again.
Her dad went off to work at 2:30 and we just 'relaxed in the living room whilst her mum was busy in the kitchen and then went shopping. It was late in the afternoon when her mum returned and said something to Lise. Lise translated, it was about me staying the night. I could sleep on the couch in the living room.
Bonus - not only free food, good and plentiful, but also a bed for the night for free.
Should have seen the face on her dad's face when he returned from work at 11 PM!
Lise and I went into Copenhagen the next morning for her to show me some sights I hadn't seen before - nothing like a local guide. We returned for lunch (dinner really) and it was decided, without my say so or approval, that I would stay another night.
The following morning I took my leave, but not before having invited Lise to come to Berlin for Christmas. Surprisingly her parents agreed at once! Could have bowled me over with a feather duster!!
Lise accompanied me to the outskirts of the city where we had a tearful farewell, lots of hugs and kisses and more tears. Then I took up my position to hitch a lift to Gedser in the south from where to catch a ferry to Travemuende.
I was in luck, got a ride right to the ferry. Overnighted in Travemuende and continued hitchhiking to Moelln to pick up my Quickly. It was not fixable, so I had to put it, and myself, on a train to Lauenburg to see if I could hitch a ride to Berlin. It was actually a piece of cake, within half an hour a petrol tanker driver (it was a huge beast of a semi-trailer) agreed to take me and Quickly to Berlin. We heaved the machine on top of the tanker and secured it to the walk plank running along the tank.
The driver was very apologetic that he had to chuck me off just inside West Berlin because of the traffic laws. I then had to push and pedal the contrite machine all the way home, which took close on two hours.
I arrived home about mid afternoon and lo and behold there was not only mum shedding tears for her 'long lost' son but also my sister Gisela. After all, it was the day of my 18th birthday.
When I told the women of my adventures and topped it off with the invitation I had extended to Lise, the look on their faces was priceless! You could have heard a pin drop at that moment.
The 'Wall' Aug 13 - 14, 1961 before concrete was added
Eventually mum said: "Well, let's see what happens. It's nearly five months to Christmas, anything can happen".
I don't think mum had quite in mind what happened fairly shortly afterwards. She was more inclined to think that time and distance would heal all wounds. But NO - two weeks after my birthday the Berlin Wall went up, causing no end of unnecessary disruption to my budding love life. It did all look very grim the first couple of weeks, mum rushed off to the supermarket to lay in more canned supplies 'in case the Russians are coming - again' and I got frantic letters from Lise that her parents had vetoed a visit to such a dangerous city.
But - that shall be the subject of another blog in the future.