Paul Cayar
Rob Weiland
Grounded
Not sure there is a relation but every time I venture into the southern hemisphere the unexpected happens. The first time I crossed the Equator, in 1980, was to participate in the Nedlloyd Spice Race, a 12,400-mile course from Jakarta to Rotterdam. The boat was Flyer 1, renamed to please the sponsor Wilma, to Flying Wilma. After
rounding the Cape of Good Hope we entered the southern Atlantic for a long downwind slide propelled by the SE trade wind under spinnaker, blooper, main, mizzen kite and mizzen. A wonderful ride, by then we were about 40 days at sea. In good
mood our captain, Gerry Dijkstra, decided that married crew could have a chat with their wives over the SSB radio, which was positioned in his cabin with most of the other navigation equipment. This meant contacting your beloved on the phone via Radio Scheveningen for a one-way conversation ending your sentences with ‘over’ to indicate the switch, for a chat that the whole SSB world could listen in to. Gerry being Gerry, a nice guy, decided that though not married I
could have a chat too, with my girlfriend. After the first ‘over’ she said in the middle of her turn ‘… your grandfather passed away.’ Not one I saw coming. In the corner of my eye I saw Gerry, a bit uneasy and undoubtedly thinking something like ‘not a great idea to let Rob phone home’. We struggled through a few more minutes of conversation, various
‘overs’ before the ‘over and out’, which in a way came as a relief, while visualising my grandfather sitting next to the coal stove with tears in his eyes when I last visited him before venturing off to Indone- sia. Not a man to cry, I realised he must have known he would not see me again, but also not a man to bother his grandson about to go on his dream trip with his cancer. I learned about the cancer once
30 SEAHORSE
home. I exchanged a few lines with Gerry about what we just learned and he kindly offered me the ‘night off’ from our watch system, so I would have a few hours to myself before returning to the treadmill. Flying Wilma was a proper ship, no alcohol onboard, but when
passing the halfway mark in Cape Town Bay a local in a small RIB had come alongside to hand us a cardboard box with the compliments of the yacht club, if I remember well. When we, a few miles further, opened the box to our surprise it contained a good number of bottles of J&B whisky. Justerini & Brooks, I’ve never forgotten what J&B stands for since – with not much to read onboard. Our cook, Sacha, accompanied me that evening in downing a few
glasses of whisky in our pantry. That was till some time after midnight we heard something falling down noisily near the main mast. On inspection it was the hard rubber mast collar chocks… and these had to go back in quickly. A job watch leader Aedgard Koekebakker and I took on, and so I ended up assisting Aedgard that night, which mainly involved holding the rubber elements in place till he had them all secured. After two hours with my arms up high I was all sober again and we continued on to win the race. The second time I crossed the Equator was early September 2001
to meet Mick Cookson. Our client at the time was about to get a 66ft Judel-Vrolijk design built at Mick’s yard. After a day in the air and finally in my hotel in Auckland I could not sleep due to the time difference and phoned a good friend in the UK, boatbuilder Neville Hutton. His exact words were ‘You better switch on the TV’ and when I did I saw the planes flying into the World Trade Center, 9/11. I stayed glued to the TV that night thinking many things, but also
‘will I get home?’ A week later I flew home via Singapore. I remember we were all very silent after the captain announced he would alter course to fly over Saudi Arabia instead of the usual more northern
RICK TOMLINSON
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