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The
private lives of high government officials in foreign service
are often far away from what the public wants to believe they
are. Not only Jules was an educated, polished and relatively
young man, but he was an excellent company. A charmer.
He conserved the original enthusiasm for all things surrounding
him. It was no wonder he was so genuinely interested
to live personally a series of awesome experiences discussed
at so many cocktail parties and dinners regarding the racing
circuit in Argentina, where he was stationed since three years
ago.
After
a number of subtle motivational subjects kept on suspiciously
creeping into almost every conversation, George began to feel
he simply had to formulate a reciprocal invitation, after
being royally treated for a number of months. Yet he
felt certain reservations, as ocean racing implies not only
a number of risks, but requires certain minimal level of knowledge,
if for nothing else, for self preservation. The
reaction was brief and enthusiastic, and obviously long-expected.
Yes, Jules would love to accompany George in a regatta.
George
carefully selected for the occasion a relatively short race
to Sauce, R.O.U., about 40 nautical miles from Buenos Aires.
It was a simple, two-leg affair, Saturday there and Sunday
back. The outcome depended apart of good piloting, as
always, on a little bit of luck with the wind. It turned
out the gods favored the heavy weather boats at that occasion.
As
customary, the crew of ANDROMEDAE sailed her Friday afternoon
from Olivos Harbor to Dársena Norte, the downtown headquarters
of the elegant Yacht Club Argentino, having spent most of
the day provisioning the yacht, this time for a crew of six.
Ridiculous as it sounded to the regular crew, the Captain
had a "guest for the ride" this time. That did not happen
very often, and the regulars felt a little itchy about having
some stranger upset their customs. And as if that would
not be enough, the intruder was a high diplomatic corps member.
Little did they know.
The
Captain arrived about 23:00 on the wet club launch and after
perfunctory salutations inquired politely where in the hell
was Jules ? The question was answered about an hour
later, when the clicking sound of the old launch engine announced
hailing for assistance to board. The crew was not exactly
crazy about coming on deck in the cold drizzle, but there
was not much choice. The Captain was checking some data,
while both boats were dancing on the heavy chop inside the
harbor. After collecting a figure equipped with all
sorts of bags and stuff, including a genuine leather suitcase,
everybody started getting acquainted once below.
While
ANDROMEDAE was an ultra-modern racer, her size did not warrant
a crew of six, although there were enough individual bunks
for everybody. The crew looked horrified at the quantity
of bags the guest managed to sneak aboard, without George
saying a single word about the comfort, and - oh God
! - the weight. Obviously, a privileged guest.
In
spite of the early start, they stayed talking till wee hours
in the morning, which was, of course, another breach
of the standard rules. Jules got the quarter berth,
George had his reserved bunk on starboard, and the crew spread
on the remaining accommodations. Till then, life was
a well organized process. Everybody had their private
gear in their respective lockers. Everybody, except
Jules of course. He did bring, however, the sheets and
the pajamas and whatever else a gentleman may not need aboard
a racing yacht for a two-day event. When the crew was
already ready to turn in, Jules was still shuffling things
around, like a duck nesting, trying to make everybody understand
that "that" hole was not exactly what he was used
to. He was still at it, when most of the lights went
out and nobody rightly new when and how did he ever managed
to lay down to sleep.
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Five
o'clock was the customary alarm time for the eight o'clock
start. While Esteban started on the breakfast (a continental
breakfast, but first class - that's how the Captain liked
it and how the crew learned to prepare and enjoy it), wonderfully
smelling coffee, fruits, marmalades, fresh butter, white and
rye toast (the Captain absolutely refused to admit rye could
be toasted), the rest, after standard personal hygiene activities
started preparing the gear on deck. Only Roberto remembered
the sixth member of the crew: Jules. It took the
proverbial tact of the Captain to get him on his feet, just
about moments before the breakfast was served. While
everybody truly enjoyed the meal, Jules was crawling out of
his bunk, trying to compose himself. Daylight started
showing outside. While the miserable forecast update
decided which sails were going to be used at the start, everybody
finished - that is, everybody except Jules, with the breakfast
and went about the respective chores. George made an
observation to Jules about his berth, which stayed in the
same condition as when he crawled out of it, and he started
to make some sort of order.
At
ten to seven George ordered the crew on deck. Engine
was started. Mainsail and mizzen were expertly hoisted,
while a 25-knot wind was making all kinds of racket, promising
a lively start. There were six categories, the big boats
first, ANDROMEDAE starting in the fifth. George took
the helm, ordered two men to stow everything below, and sent
the crew forward to weigh anchor. With a little help
from the engine, it was soon on deck, washed and being stowed
below, as the least possible gear on deck was the rule.
With a slight turn of the wheel and a little sheet on both
sails, she heeled well over and shot out between other
vessels still at anchor. George liked to get the feel
for the boat, before deciding the foresail choice. While
other boats started maneuvering inside the harbor, the customary
pre-race tension hung in the air, and the well-trained crew
slipped into a well-rehearsed mode. A watch on the bow
called in the position, course and speed of other yachts,
while George sorted their way through the bay. In general
everything was running smoothly towards the red flag.
Medium
flat jenny was the verdict. It was on and up in six
minutes flat. Now the boat really started going.
Each tack or jibe was accompanied by the normal noises a sailboat
makes, which to a newcomer does not necessarily sounds
too encouraging. The boat was ready inside, everything
properly stowed and tied, ready for a heavy race. Jules
finished his breakfast, managed to load the excess into the
sink and started preparing his camera. At 07:50 the
first signal broke the atmosphere and the whole crew slipped
into their respective roles. At the blue flag the Captain
had to perform an emergency jibe to avoid a two-tonner turning
for the final approach. The Navy's FORTUNA came as always
from way behind at full speed, the cadets working their butts
off right from the beginning, to make a good show of the start.
The smaller craft scattered in front of her as she reached
the line dead on the gun. Second category five minutes
after that, third and fourth, and George began weaving his
magic for a miracle approach. The wind was on the starboard
quarter, so at least there was not going to be too much confusion
on the line. At 08:18:20 ANDROMEDAE jibed neatly
and crossed the line two seconds after the gun.
Squeezing
through the narrow harbor entrance, with the stone pier on
starboard protecting the fleet for a while from the heavy
swell, till they passed the pier light and got hit with the
full fury of the waves. And the race was on.
Copyright
George J. Horak 2000
Will
continue in the next issue ….
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