It was the perfect evening. Good friends, blue skies, cold cider, interesting conversation, minimal bruises, not much shouting…
You see, I’m learning two languages in New Zealand: Māori and sailing. Yachting has its own vocabulary and style of communication. Mostly shouting, that is. At least, that’s what it feels like when you’re first learning and don’t understand the words yet.
Māori war canoe in Bay of Islands
There’s halyards and sheets, starboard and port, leeward and windward, gennakers and spinnakers and genoas, and my personal favorite, the vang. You have to figure out quickly why “coming about” means you could soon have a bruise on your head or what to do when everyone’s yelling about a “lazy sheet.” And in the world of the sea, everything is relative to the wind. For instance, I’m still struggling with the concept that make a right-angle turn has two words for it – tacking and jibing – depending on how the boat is changing relative to the prevailing gusts. That’s like trying to give someone driving directions relative to the nearest mountain – if the mountain liked to jump around a lot and change locations.
Why is a girl from land-locked desert highlands suddenly struck with sailing? You’d think I would have already picked it up in Seattle, if I was so keen, wouldn’t you? My only real explanation is that, well, it’s just what people DO in Auckland. Here in the City of Sails, there are approximately 135,000 yachts and launches – that’s 1 boat for every 10 people in a city of 1.3 million people. Keep in mind that a sailboat generally needs more than one person to take it out, and that means LOTS of opportunities to get onto a boat.
50 cent coin
Sailing is in the psyche, here in the “Land of the Long White Cloud.” After all, that’s how everyone got here up until the 20th century. Don’t let the image of a slim Māori war canoe fool you. They didn’t paddle all the way here from their Polynesian homeland. They flew before the winds in a double-hulled voyaging canoe, balancing on the high seas with sails and an outrigger. The first European ship to land here, Captain Cook’s HMS Endeavor, is memorialized on the 50-cent coin. Even air travelers are reminded that good winds matter here, when they drive past giant white metal sails at Auckland International Airport.
Yes, the most popular sport to watch in New Zealand is rugby. But Aucklanders’ favorite sport to DO is sailing. Not surprising, then, that I showed up and was signed up for a local yacht club before we even moved into our apartment. We have our all-around sportsman fellow American, Bryon, to thank for introducing us to the Richmond Yacht Club. Lest you hear “yacht club” and think we’re walking around in summer whites and tut-tutting with a bunch of wealthy boat-owners, you have to understand two things. First, “yacht” really just means “sailboat.” Even better, the word comes from the Norwegian word jaght meaning“fast pirate ship.” I love that! Second, RYC draws a pretty down-to-earth, even somewhat blue-collar crowd. We know boat owners who are firemen and builders and university professors, but no corporate moguls or trust-fund heirs. Hell, there isn’t even a dress code for the post-race prize givings!
Tall ships at Auckland Anniversary Day Regatta
Didn’t I mention that most of our sailing is races? Ah, well now perhaps you understand some of the shouting. And the bruising. We got started with RYC’s Friday Night Special race series, where they let rank beginners (i.e. me) onto a succession of different yachts over the course of 8 evening races. The first thing you learn is how not to get hit in the head – or knocked overboard – by the boom.
For you beginners, the mainsail is attached to the mast going upwards and the boom going parallel to the boat’s deck. “Coming about” is when the boat is turning sufficiently for the mainsail to change from one side of the boat to the other. The boom is that huge metal rod going over your head very quickly. DUCK! Oh, and scramble to the other side of the boat while you’re doing this! Since you’re not very important ‘cause you don’t know anything, you generally don’t get to do this in the recessed cockpit where you can just bend down a bit. You have to climb over the top of the cabin, banging yourself on every metal bit sticking out. And you’re on a keeled boat that tends to, well, keel over at 45 degrees to the water, so you need to do this at the right time so you don’t end up trying to climb up the boat to the high side. And try not to sit on any of the lines or get in the way too much, eh? That’s the first day.
Cooling my heels on the Coastal
It gets better. Really! For instance, we newbies get to spend plenty of time relaxing on the rail with our legs hanging off the boat where one can admire the view, chat with fellow sailors, wave at or taunt other boats, and listen to the experienced crew discuss strategy. If we get bored, we can admire all the bad sailing puns in the boat names: Prawn Broker, Knighthawk, Xtsea, Deep Throttle, Aquaholic …
The best part, though, is when you actually start knowing what you’re doing. Even the shouting becomes kinda fun then. The first time I started to feel that way was on the 2009 Coastal Classic in late October. The Coastal is a long-distance sailing race that starts in Auckland’s Waitemata Harbour and terminates at Russell in the Bay of Islands. We were lucky to get invited onto Peppermint Planet, owned by brothers’-in-law Rodney and Peter. Realistically, I think Chuck was invited and I somehow managed to tag along.
We showed up on the dock to discover that Peppermint Planet had no less than eight crewmembers. This seemed like a lot of bodies for the number of jobs aboard. As one of the least experienced, I was pretty sure I was destined to be “rail meat”, i.e. ballast that does what you tell it to. I was feeling a bit blue, since I was hoping to do something useful and learn more. Chuck spoke up and volunteered me to run the keys, which meant learning a whole new set of skills. I was thrilled!
The keys w/ Auckland skyline
Little did I know that I was signing up to be the eye of the shouting storm. Rodney and Bryon quickly explained which lines went through the keys, how they worked and what problems to watch out for. I should point out that there are no “ropes” on a sailboat. Every line has a special name. Woohoo! More vocabulary! I eventually worked out that most of the keys control lines that go up and down. Phew! Means I don’t have to think about the sheets, which pull the headsail back and forth horizontally. That doesn’t stop me from starting every time someone says to do something with the sheets, fervently searching the keys to find that they’re not listed and finally remembering they’re not my problem.
Peppermint Planet
You’ve probably heard that old adage that describes flying as “hours of boredom interrupted by moments of stark terror.” That pretty aptly describes running the keys. You’ve not really needed much of the time. But when it’s time to change the headsail, to take better advantage of the winds you’re getting, it’s panic time. There’s lots of shouting and gesturing coming from several people at once. Often, you can’t hear them as their voices get lost in the wind. Oh, and apparently everyone on the boat has a slightly different term for the SAME damned line! Who knew that “uphaul” was the same thing as “toppers,” which is marked as “topping lift” on the key itself? And there’s an outhaul and a downhaul to remember, too. Yeah, it all makes sense when you sit down and work out what everything does. But during all the shouting and boat tipping and hauling on lines, that all goes out the window.
What I’m saying is that it was AWESOME! I mattered! I was doing something that actually affected the boat! And, I could spend some time in the cockpit, where the under-boom scrambling was less painful. The bruises on top of my bruises breathed a sigh of momentary relief. And I was learning the whys behind all the words and shouting. Very cool.
Rodney aboard Peppermint Planet
It was a thrill to get to know the crew better, too. We were an international mix of people of quite varied experience. Our nimble Kiwi skipper Rodney kept us in good form, only occasionally doing his angry Rumplestiltskin impression when we’d really mucked something up. Sailing queen “Skiff” originally from Portsmouth, England, kept the headsails trimmed – and showed how great it is to have some clear female communication onboard. One of three professional sailmakers onboard, Brendan remained almost imperturbable running the mainsail. Charlie from Rarotonga saved me from being the newest person aboard, as this was his 3rd time on a sailboat. He spent the entire time grinning ear-to-ear or grinding on a winch whenever Skiff yelled, “Trim, Charlie!” When not working the bow, slim eighteen-year old Jay told us about his experiences growing up on sailboats in Spain and the Bay of Islands, while our buddy Bryon put up with Rodney’s jibes about being better ballast than the rest of us because of his large frame.
The race was lovely. The sun was shining the whole time, and we had a lovely wind pushing us up the coast most of the way. Most boats were flying their spinnakers, which made the start line a many-hued rainbow of colorful kites. The weather was so spectacularly beautiful that some crazy kiteboarder was racing right behind the record-setting winner, Alfa Romeo. He made it 261kms, only giving up when the wind gave out near Russell. We made our own record, finishing in 14 hours 7 minutes.
Sunset at Bay of Islands
So, I’m learning to understand and even speak this new language, bit by bit. Sailing isn’t exactly a democracy, but there are often multiple voices putting their oars in on what oughta happen next or, more often, “what the heck happened there when everything went to custard?” It’s been fantastic to finally understand what all the chatter is about. And Rodney’s let us know that we’re now “expected” on the more hardcore Wednesday night race series.
I’m finding myself part of a community I never expected to join. Last night, Peter showed me how to pack the spinnaker properly. As we started, I thought he asked me, “Do you have a clue?” After a heartbeat, I realized he was talking about the lower corners of the sail. And as I grabbed the clew, I realized that I felt like the answer to the question I thought I heard was finally “yes.”
See what it looks like at: Coastal Classic 09 by jocuteca
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Kiwi Crazy 