Maiden Voyage - Jim Burrell

Having finally taken delivery of my Gem trailer sailer from builder John Stockton, launch day dawns. It is the day of the Botany Bay Yacht Club sailpast and even though we are still to join the club we think we'll tag onto the end and say hello to some old mates, the emphasis on old.

My partner Ann and I and my adult son Clinton decide to get to the rigging area nice and early because I have had the mast up only once at home to make sure the shrouds, forestay etc are OK.

What follows next is a catalogue of disaster which I hope all new trailer sailer owners don't have to undergo as a rite of initiation.

On arrival at St George Motor Boat Club, which I have joined because they have a great concrete ramp with floating jetty (and great marinated prawns), I discover you have to ignore the painted arrows in the carpark if you are to get your boat and trailer lined up with room to rig.

That's when I discover that the petrol tin for the outboard has fallen over on the trip from home and filled the cockpit with messy fuel. So much for the new anti-skid which is now anything but. A borrowed scubbing brush and some buckets of seawater get rid of the worst of it (carefully mopped up, of course).

However, tin is now empty of fuel and it is impossible to negotiate the narrow alley between all the megabuck power boats without an engine. It's off to the nearest service station for some more fuel (and a burger).

Put tin in the boot and back to the club. Open the boot to make a horrifying discovery: the tin has fallen over again (there must be a poltergeist) and filled the boot up with fuel (don't strike a match!).

However, there is enough left to get on the water at last.

Proudly back the car down the ramp, son grabs hold of the guide rope and pushes to get the boat off the rollers, and pushes and pushes. And pushes some more.
What the @#$%^& is wrong with it, he shouts, it should just slide off. That's when I remember that John Stockton, as an added security measure on the trip over from Adelaide, tied the boat down to the trailer with a sturdy rope through the keel casing.

Slide in on my back on mossy ramp to untie it. Hallelujah, she floats.

This is when we discover that the old outboard motor I have been using for eight years on my tinnie without the slightest hiccup has now chosen this day to become a
right bastard. Maybe it resents being put on a brand new boat.

It stays alight until we get halfway down megabuck avenue.

Then it's a frantic fend to keep everyone's gelcoat intact.

Another go and it starts long enough to get us into open water.

The sailpast? Yes, we saw them sail past hours ago and disappear into the distance while we were still on shore.

Finally eat burger, now stone cold.

Having been used to the featherlight touch of my NS14 single-handed dinghy I find the weather helm on the Gem in the gusty breeze (it had been a gentle zephyr till we
got out there) something else again, but a few tweaks and flattening the main out a bit soon has it sailing like a dream. I won't develop muscles like Popeye the Sailorman after all.

Can't help myself. Pace myself against some other boats on the bay and feel we're doing OK. Can almost hear the teeth gnashing on the skipper of a bigger boat that we pass and sail away from. Good stuff, and potential here.

But we still have to get back to the ramp and here the engine excels itself. Every time we line up with megabuck avenue the engine quits. Half a dozen more careful goes and we are almost in. Only one big fend is needed to get back to the pontoon.

As they say in the kids' essays we arrive home tired but happy ... well almost.

Backing the trailer into the driveway, with the usual jerk over the gutter lip, there's a mighty crunch. Must be one of the dogs' toys, I think.

``I think I've run over something,'' I tell Ann.

She hops out of the car and says, ``Yes, you have run over something ... the outboard.''

Watch this space: next week a new outboard. And maybe the confidence to put up the spinnaker. Maybe not.