SC Queimarla SC Queimarla - The Coastal Passage Home Page

Paul, bow surfing
Queimarla’s first sail
Story & photos, attached us to the marina floor (O.K. levers into forward, I watched the years of cruising. We tighten up the
We are both good swimmers, and The surfers had to be satisfied with
Barbara Jahnz, SC Queimarla an exaggeration! But close). We jetty move away from the boat. My lazy jacks, unzip the bag, and
had the life ring and vests handy, so watching Queimarla sway at anchor
March 1997, Hillary's Marina,
Sorrento, Perth, Western Australia.
The easterlies had been coming in
more regularly, reminding us that it
was now or never to get our girl
sailing.
We had been working hard
organizing everything. A second
hand main sail from the Australian
Racing Catamaran, John West had
been cut down to size to fit our rig
and was lying in its bright red bag on
the deck, ready to be man handled
onto the boom and up the mast (yep,
we have the sails that John West
rejects!).
Laid out on the lawn a few days
earlier, we had decided, definitely, to
lose the colour scheme. Stripes of
dark green, duck shit green and baby
poo yellow had to go. Ready to go
were our no.1 jib, self-tacking no.3
jib and a roll of 12mm rope, now cut
down into sheet lengths. Halyards
were already strung through the
mast. Our two 9.9 Yamaha motors
(nicknamed P & S) checked and the
control shift problem sorted out.
There was a disconcerting moment
the day before when Paul pushed the
control levers forward and the boat
tugged against her mooring lines to
move in reverse!
A few hours during each of the
preceding days we had been diving
on the underwater hulls to scrub
down, disconnecting ourselves from
the forest of marine growth that had
sold the domestic bar fridge,
connected the solar panels, lost all
the lamps and extension leads to
friends, disconnected our shore
power cable and a myriad of other
paraphernalia got carted away.
We had decided we were ready, and
the next morning, early, we would
quietly sneak out of our berth,
around to the southern side of the
marina, and anchor there to put the
main sail on. Then we would go for a
sail. Our first ever on Queimarla.
We woke to a fantastic day except
we didn't really notice. Over
breakfast we talked ourselves
through our contingency plan, going
over every step we would take to get
out of our pen, so that it wouldn't
turn into an embarrassing screaming
match. O.K. Action. Everything was
made shipshape inside and on deck
for our trip outside the heads and
into open water. The motors had
been given a chance to warm up, half
of our mooring ropes had been
removed and along came the first of
our dock rat friends. So much for
sneaking out before anyone woke up;
wish they'd wipe the smirks off their
faces.
“Finally getting the big bitch movin,
are ya guys?”
“Cummon, we'll give yers a hand
and fend 'er off.”
“Thanks guys.” Groan - no turning
back now.
So, letting the mooring lines go,
and Paul gently easing the control
stomach tightened. We were actually
moving away from the jetty, and that
felt so foreign! I had to give myself
a mental shake and tell myself to get
a grip.
“All of this is not new,” I said to
myself, “we have done this dozens of
times.” On other peoples boats and
on our first catamaran, Nortrek, but
that was 10 years ago! This was our
newly built boat. Not a scratch on
her. Never sailed before. Oh boy.
Free fall.
And as her bows pointed out
towards the heads, I watched the
water play around her bows, and the
Rottnest Island Ferry steam into the
marina. But Queimarla, unlike me,
took it all in stride and rode the bow
waves and on out to meet the
elements outside the heads.
We motored around the “Boy in the
Boat” reef, waved to a couple of
powerboats whipping past, and found
a nice sandy place to drop the
anchor. Wow. It is so peaceful here!
We relished the new gentle easy
motion of a free boat at anchor,
made ourselves a congratulatory cup
of coffee and sat, watching the
bathers on the beach from a whole
new angle. We talked, business,
rehashing what to do next.
Between the two of us we managed
to man handle the 4.5-meter long
red sail bag onto the boom. The sail
is heavy, but we know also strong,
and will last us at least a couple of
unwrap our main sail. Sliding the
cars onto the mast track worked a
treat, and soon we had the out-haul
tied on, the main halyard attached,
and everything looked ready to go.
The plan was to haul up the anchor,
motor into the light offshore easterly
breeze, and pull up the main. And it
all was going to plan, we had the
main half way up, and we heard a
plaintive call
“Help, I'm caught in the current!”
What? We looked at each other in
total disbelief. Now??? Our first ever
venture out?? We weren't sure of
what we were doing ourselves, let
alone helping someone else!'
Three guys had swum out towards
our boat, all with masks, snorkels
and fins. Two were finning it, slowly
but steadily, at an angle with the
current back to the beach. But the
third was looking at us, expectantly,
a bit red in the face.
“Ahhh, um, there's not much
chance of getting you on board mate,
but you've got fins, recon you can
swim in if we shadow you? We'll toss
you a rope if you really need it.” said
Paul. He looked up at us dejectedly.
But really, Queimarla's transom is
sheer, and the ladder was packed
away. We could put it out, but it
would take time and then what do
we do with him? Head back into the
Marina? No, if possible we'd help
him get out of his own mess, the way
he got in, and be ready if it really got
serious.
we dropped the half hauled main,
got the ropes ready if he really got
into trouble, and motored towards
him. He turned and slowly started
finning towards the shore. Soon
enough, he was able to stand, he
waved, grinned, and gave us
thumbs up, and relieved, we were
able to back away and continue our
manoeuvre. We felt a bit mean, but
hey, bet he felt better getting back
on his own steam and not having to
be rescued or did he? We would
never know. We didn't really care -
we were going sailing!
So, again, up with the main, the
heavy thing costing a lot of energy
to haul up and turn away, rotate the
wing mast, let out the traveller;
broad reach, heading south. Yes!
She was moving under her own
steam! We shut down the motors,
pulled them up out of the water and
the sound changed again. A
peaceful rustle of water along the
hulls. We were “moovin”! Hank on
the no.3 self tacker (no need to
over do it here) and run the sheet
through, pull her up and Queimarla
powers forward. Now we were
really sailing! We tacked and
played, tweaked and adjusted,
grinning, till we passed Scarborough
Beach. By this time it was nearly
lunchtime, and we decided to turn
and drop anchor. Scarborough
Beach is a surfing beach, normally a
seething mass of surf rolling into
the shore, but this day the offshore
easterly levelled everything out.
in the flat sea. A bite of lunch, a
cool swim, siesta in the netting on
our very own no.3 jib, another
swim, and then head for home.
This time in a straight line, only
7nm. Too soon we were dropping
the jib and starting the motors as
we came up to the heads of Hillary's
Marina and then turning into the
wind in the duck pond just inside
the breakwater to drop the main
sail. Slowly we turned and nudged
our way into our berth, taking up
lines and tying off securely.
We were home. Our first great
adventure. One day we would sail
out of those heads and not come
back. But first, back to work to
replenish the bank account. This is
the stuff dreams are made of. And
boy, did we sleep well and dream
happy that night.
TCP NOTE: Paul and Barbara
Jahnz journeyed around the world
on Queimarla from 1998 to 2010.
Queimarla is a 42' Kurt Hughes
designed open bridgedeck
catamaran, constructed in the
'save and build' method! Built in
Mandurah, Western Australia.
Building commenced January 1989
and was completed March 1997.
Their 'cruising lifestyle'
commenced May '98. Paul and
Barbara now need to sell
Queimarla and if interested, see
this editions “Boat for Sale” page.
Wok & Woody Say:
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Barbara and Paul -
life is good...
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Barbara in cruise mode
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