BRIDGE OVER TROUBLED WATERS – HOW MELBOURNE SABRE SAILORS ARE RIDING THE SECOND WAVE.

In a series of on again, off again COVID-19 restrictions since March, Melbourne Sabre sailors have found themselves stranded high and dry. Undeterred by the storm, the fleet has ‘re- written’ the sailing instructions; rigging up new strategies for community connection.

The class’ renowned enthusiasm normally reserved for the rigging yards and racecourse, has rapidly switched tack to embrace online sailing development forums designed to share and foster skills growth, Sabrette Soirees creating a sense of connection and community across the female contingent and PR cross-State collaborations. While fortnightly informal Zoom catch ups have replaced after racing bar chats, boat repair checklists and to do lists pre-empt a no excuse strategy for a return to the sea.

Although some sailors have hooked into regular informal online social opportunities, others have maintained motivation by hurling heavy and light weight questions into the Facebook Sabre Development Forum. Ranging from how to improve boat speed, plywood boat rule changes, sail designs, centreboard rake, righting lines, mast sections and installing self- bailing systems, questions have been asked and willingly answered by all.

The sharing Sabre spirit continued as Alan Riley, current go fast guru holding two Sabre National State Championship titles back to back, invited fellow Sabre sailors to participate in several ‘all you can digest’ one-hour Q&A sessions. He says, “I like to think people have been learning from me, so will improve and enjoy their sailing more” and is keen to see the initiatives continue post lockdown.

Enjoying the information on offer, Randall Garnham from Black Rock Yacht Club, admittedly suffering serious sailing withdrawal symptoms, has become a further force to recon with after participating in the sessions. “I learnt heaps from these. Alan and Murray O’Brien’s tips were great. Their knowledge on how to sail fast in various conditions and how to address our problem areas was great. I’m itching to put it into practice so watch out!”

When asked what the most difficult thing about not being able to sail during this period has been, Sabre sailor Pam Webster remarked, “It’s the total physical isolation. I can’t go to the sailing club to check on the Sabre or do maintenance … or evict the water rats that might have taken up residence in my Sabre.” After regularly participating in Sabre Zoom events she comments, “I don’t feel isolated and it’s the positive attitude of the people in the class” that she has found helpful.

Lisa Barrand, familiar with Sabrette succour, sleepovers, and regular host of the Sabrette Soirees is confident the “Regular Zoom has been very supportive for people – beyond sailing.” Luis Mata says, “I miss being physically tired after going for a sail, and the sense of peace and relaxation that comes after sailing.” While Harold Medd, Mata’s fortnightly forum co-host and Sabre veteran shares, “I have always needed the completely absorbing activity of sailing to get me away from all other issues.” Both agree that the sharing of stories and getting to know each other beyond the club and a regatta has deepened their connection to the class and are keen to see the events continue.

In an environment where most Melbourne sailors don’t have a compass bearing for the next windward mark, it’s been the collective display of will, determination and commitment to community, symbolic of a sailing class made up of people prepared to batten down the hatches and weather a storm together, that has seen Sabre sailors reinvent the rules to continue living out the class’ values. Values readily described by its members as, “Encouraging, supportive, welcoming, inclusive, friendly,” or in the words of Adrian West, “Awesome!  Seriously, it’s one of the best groups I’ve seen.”

It’s traits like these that will see the continued development of a sustainable class of inclusion and participation. Securing Sabre success for the highs and the lows, the storm and the calm. In a class that can truly claim:

“Sail on silver girl
Sail on by
Your time has come to shine
All your dreams are on their way
See how they shine
Oh, if you need a friend
I’m sailing right behind
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will ease your mind
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will ease your mind.”

(Simon and Garfunkel)

REDHEADS ALLOWED

Three, four, five, six – drop. Three, four, five, six, seven – ouch!
Six seconds to burn the match, seven seconds to scald my finger.
Eight, nine, ten – drop.
Ten seconds and the blazing match plummets into the waters of the toilet bowl below.

With five of us under ten years old, deploying matches as an ‘after business air freshener’, or ‘smoke after stools’ strategy, could promptly be critiqued as a mother’s giant leap of faith, trust in the Old Testament tenants of punishment where provoked, flippant folly, or mad moments of insanity. For us, it was a dance with the devil, hardcore hazard, a contest of confidence or perhaps even pyromaniac perfectionism.

We never did burn down the house, or even burn a hole in the lino floor that I can remember. There were close calls. A few scorched toilet wall posters boasted scars of broken boundaries. Rolls of toilet paper destroyed by daredevils. Burnt matchboxes told tales of narrow escape and tiny- black at both end- sticks floating peacefully, announced a mission successfully accomplished.

 Secrets of lavatory jeopardy and fire freak-outs remain locked tight amongst siblings, in a family where competition has always been paramount. Or perhaps the expensive introduction of Airwick air fresheners has dulled memory, lulled lies or replaced stories with a scent of complacency or compromise. But the Redhead safety match, fire and ash ‘smell scheme,’ has burned bright beyond childhoods. Struck into educational action with a red, potassium chlorate, sulphur and phosphate combo. A mother’s confidence in a ‘match striking after motions’ mantra has set precedents for a blazing set of life skills unscripted and unorthodox.

One, two, three … I feel challenge

Four, five, six… there is defiance

Seven, eight, nine… risk smokes

Ten, eleven, twelve… there is boundary

Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen… I am bold

Sixteen, seventeen… pain shudders

Eighteen, nineteen … respect reminders

Twenty, Twenty-one… I yield.

In the room of risk and reward… shit happened. Was the Redhead responsible for reckless abandon or risk evaluation? Can we blame her for pyromania paranoia or a practice of problem solving? Were her flames flickering vulnerability or igniting resilience? Did she have confidence and competition manufactured into her matchstick? Or perhaps she reserved judgement in anticipation of outcomes?

Before the age of sanitization, air fresheners and helicopter parenting, we survived. With house still standing, confidence boosted, and fear parameters established, we moved beyond the four corners of flames into the fiery plains of life. Underpinned with an unexpected, unconventional, and potentially unidentified message, of a mother’s encouragement to, “Be fearless in the pursuit of what sets your soul on fire.” Jennifer Lee 

ARE YOU KID-DING?

“Because the teachers hate me.” Is the sweaty response from the continuously complaining 14 year old as to why he was in the most difficult hiking group on the school camp. “That way they don’t have me hanging around base camp for three days.” His athletic, teen build and energetic aura hinted at the more likely reason he’d been selected to pound the three day trail from Tidal River, to Waterloo Bay and on to Sealers Cove.

Radiating heat from rugged granitic rock faces smothers conversation as the group of heavily laden Year 8 students trek the path towards Little Oberon Bay. Seeking solace under sheoaks, embracing hints of cool ocean breeze, adjusting and readjusting packs in search of the sweet spot; oversized shoes generate demand for Elastoplast repairs to blistering feet as a steady rhythm develops, fate is accepted, complaints lessen, and grabs into scroggin filled zip lock bags increase.

In a trend soon to be solidified teens become toddlers at the sight of sand, waves and steep boulders. Agility training apparently already required after 4 kilometres, packs are shed, shoes tossed aside, and boulders scaled. Warnings to keep feet dry go unheeded as sand settling in socks create hotspots heading for a fortunately dry Growlers Creek crossing into Oberon Bay.

Along the sun-drenched track to Telegraph Junction black dust clutches perspiring legs and coastal breezes fade. A discontented murmuring amongst students confirms the disconnect between the kilometres to be covered on day one in the camp brochure and distance already covered. The ‘Are we there yets?’ increase as the additional 5 kilometres are added to the day’s agenda. Questions and complaints are unlikely to have been less with Telegraph Saddle as the Trailhead. The hope of a ‘swim’ at Waterloo Bay, keeps eyes peeled on the horizon and determination in strides.

After 15.7 kilometres, tea tree and messmates give yield to the white siliceous sands and the incandescent blue of Waterloo Bay. The outgoing tide seemingly extracting self – doubt and uncertainty, the salt air filling with the prospect of success, capability and confidence. Receding waves lap up vestiges of the ‘impossible’, invigorating the group’s last 1.5 kilometres to the campground as hats, food and clothing are rescued from the inlet crossing scrambling up to Little Waterloo Bay Track.

Excitement builds as tent poles poke and bend finding their correct order and angle, sleeping mats inflate for hopefully the required duration, and pack contents are strewn through sleeping quarters. “Remember no food in tents. Who needs wombats when you have each other!” The initial aversion to hiking and physical exertion dissipates in the steam of boiling noodle packets, apple crumble deserts and hot chocolates. Torchlight hides the reality of the drop toilet experience and lurking native animals hustle tired bodies into bed. As laughter roars and warnings for silence fly, who was it that didn’t want to hike?

Alarms ring early, in anticipation of severe afternoon storms. A speedy pace is set through an ever-inclining understory rich in lichen, moss and blue wrens, with a towering canopy of all things eucalyptus overhead. Shortly before Kersops Peak, pangs for morning tea are aroused by the all – pervading honey scent of the Kunzea Ambigua, strong enough to fool a bear. The view from Kersops Peak temporarily suspends all other form of teen conversation. Xbox has finally met its match in the spectacular vistas spanning the secluded Refuge Cove, misty mountain coverings and the huge expanse of the Tasman Sea.

Teenage egos jostling for position slowly meld into team as ‘can’t’ metamorphosizes into ‘can’. Passing through the once thriving whaling station of Refuge Cove and on to Sealers Cove, the site of a mid 1800’s timber mill sets the backdrop for the evening. Spared from the tent tearing storms and rain ravaging Tidal River, Trangia’s prepare dinners, burning pancakes and bracken simultaneously. Tents without flies bode disaster under the Cumulonimbus heavy skies, whilst guy ropes are set, and drainage dug for the pending downpour.

The final morning brings with it lessons in tent living, leaks and leeches. A crack of dawn departure avoids disaster at Sealers Creek where the tide already runs high. Hope beams wide as a rainbow points in the direction of the treasured trail end. Trudging through the temperate rainforest, ancient fern gullies, across boardwalks and over swamps, Windy Hill marks difficulty completed as the trail traverses towards its close.

Three days leave negativity, suspicion, self – doubt and uncertainty on the track. Telegraph Saddle is reached with ruck sacks lighter and spirits fuller with determination, resilience, courage and celebration of personal triumph over challenge with a request to “Do it again right now.” Personal fortification gradually collected in an environment where the crashing of waves and whistling of birds replace relentless pings of Insta posts and Facebook messages. Where chats lasted longer than a snap and the memories of fun, achievement, and triumph will last so much longer than a Fortnight.

Are We There Yet?

The Enneagram personality type Seven is summarized as ‘The Enthusiast’. Attributing characteristics such as busy, fun-loving, curious, optimistic, and adventurous to the individual. ‘Sevens’ are excited by the rush of ideas; generally quick responders with agile minds and often able to see the big picture. There is an underpinning abundant vitality and desire to fully participate in life each day. Or, for a more creative explanation:
‘An ant carrying a larger than life bread crumb; scrambling, overcoming obstacles, challenging reality and LOVING IT, looking for still more’.

Forced commitment to the long windy road for a Seven therefore regularly brings up the restless question “Are we there yet”? Unfortunately, unlike the response given to children on long road trips, the answer is more complicated. In short – ‘No’.

The envious quality of patience, described as “The capacity to accept or tolerate delay, problems, or suffering without becoming annoyed or anxious”, is a distant, rarely required or embraced trait for a Seven; where life is an autobahn of dynamic choices and opportunities.

When the green light of activity turns red to an unquestionable stop, the transition to orange and back to green is fraught with detours and road works. This slow jam demands unconditional acceptance of delay, the re-routing of the roadmap and an adjusted destination timeframe. Trip meter set to zero. A forced submission to patience dictates a new strategy.

“This hill, though high, I covet to ascend;
The difficulty will not me offend.
For I perceive the way to life lies here.
Come, pluck up, heart; let’s neither faint nor fear.
Better, though difficult, the right way to go,
Than wrong, though easy, where the end is woe.”
John Bunyan, The Pilgrim’s Progress

“The way of life lies here”. ”Come, pluck up, heart”. A hint of joy? That sounds like a Seven. Courage in the now. Determination in the present. Perseverance in the today. “Let’s neither faint nor fear”. A choice required, with positive options accepted. Refocus, recommit, align expectations. Discover the divine in the ordinary. Uncover the unexpected joys of the detour, peace transforming pain, healing consuming injury, through the plotting of a slow, deliberate, determined trajectory towards the green light, whilst patiently learning to enjoy the view from the jam.

“Are we here yet?” Yes. In the now we are here. In the perseverance, we are here. In the patience, we are here. In the discovery of the ordinary, we are here.