Chapter 35

We stood well out ... maybe 35 miles straight east. I had two reasons ... one ... a lesson about drink. Two ... lee shore. I didn’t want to get caught against sand or rocks should the westerlies decide to turn. Running before 25 knots Basilisk easily made 15 knots. After a run of 2hrs 20 min I turned north figuring to skirt Banks Peninsula by a couple of miles.

If the wind did turn against us the first decent hidey-hole is Duvauchelle, a small town situated at the head of Duvauchelle Bay at the very end of Akaroa Harbour. The town of Akaroa is similar. Both are well sheltered.

Banks Peninsula is a peninsula of volcanic origin on the east coast of South Island, New Zealand. It has an area of approximately 1,150 square kilometers and encompasses two large harbours and many smaller bays and coves. The peninsula looks like a well hammered thumb.

South Island’s largest city, Christchurch, is immediately north of the peninsula. Christchurch is our destination for today. Leaving Timaru at noon made Christchurch before dark impossible. I assigned watch stations for the hours of darkness.

Christchurch is poorly situated. It’s inland. Annexing local towns, sometimes against the will of the people is what gave the greater city waterfront property. Slips for yachts are at the whim of Yacht Clubs ... as we found out when acquiring radio contact...

“SV Basilisk checking on available dockage. We are a 65 foot or 20 meter catamaran.”

One after the other the clubs checked in.

“We have no available slips.”

“Sorry ... full up.”

“No room.”

“Try Lyttelton.”

Lyttelton came back with, “Only moorings... 35 in Corsair Bay or 15 in Cass Bay. We still have 170 boats on the hard waiting for the new slips.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Cass has black sand ... Corsair has yellow. Cass is a hike to town, Corsair has easy access.”

“Cass, please.”

“You still have to speak to the port.”

“Port ... papers please,” said the listening Port.

I cheated ... we have two dinghies. Jim and I took the small one to the club. Mattie, Arthur and the college girls went to the beach.

“Find a vacant buoy?” asked the bartender.

“Yes.”

“Fifteen dollars.”

“24 hours?”

“Yes.”

I paid ... one day.

“Just the one?”

“My crew will cause enough havoc tonight ... we don’t need to do it twice.”

“Rowdy bunch of guys?”

“Worse... 7 first year college girls.”

“First time away from home?”

“Yup,” I said. “They’re all pretty spectacular ... and learning the ropes.”

“The mooring includes one day admission to the Club.” She pointed east. “Now you need to go to Lyttelton Port Company.”

Lyttelton wasn’t half the hassle that Timaru was.

“Timaru warned us,” said the Port Officer, producing a stamp.

Whack

“Seven 18 year olds?”

“The girls. Two men.”

“Chaperones?”

“Nope ... crew.” I said, “I saw two wrecked and abandoned sailboats on the way here, what’s up with that?”

“We had an earthquake. Localized tsunami. Destroyed a bunch.” He pointed farther east.

“There’s nothing there,” I said.

“There used to be.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t know if you noticed but the main dock at Naval is broken in two places and the other dock is gone ... just pilings left ... that’s why no slips.”

“I noticed ... earthquake. huh?”

“I doubt it’s over. There was a bit when we thought the volcano was going to wipe us off the map.”

“We’re staying one day ... Wellington next ... Sydney after,” Jim said.

We motored back to Cass and saw everyone else was at the beach ... we went too.

Gathering my flock, I said, “We have admission to the club. Who wants to go?” I said, “Show of hands.”

Every hand but mine went up. About five in the afternoon, we fled the beach and motored out to the boat. They dressed fit to kill. Little black dresses and red “Fuckme” shoes. I doubt that there was enough fabric in the seven dresses to make me a decent dress. I TRIED to stay on the boat. Not happening. I wore my whites ... a snowflake in a sea of red shod midnight. Wore my Captains hat too.

I have to admit ... I had a good time. The club was packed. There seemed to be a real contingent of junior members.

“How come there are so many kids here?” I asked the evening bartender.

“Farr 3.7 race, also Star class, Lightning class, 49er, and Optimist prams for the youngsters and Offshore keelboats for the adults. Why?”

“Just wondering about the kids,” I said. “Farr? Open to strangers?”

“Sure,” he said.

“I have mine here.”

“Inspection is at 8am. There’s a fee ... pays for the trophies. Five Dollars. You can pay me.” He handed me a course map.

I paid and hunted down Albert.

“I need a ride back to the boat,” I said.

“Why ever for?” He said.

“I’m racing in the morning and I need to launch and rig my Farr.”

He took me and left.

I used my homemade gin pole and settled her in the water, she swelled a little. I found my gear and made a quick look through. The top still fit ... a little cramped but my boobs compacted some ... boots, hood, gloves I did a thorough checking if my trapeze and hiking straps.