Falafel and foiling
Turned out there was nothing to drink on-board, just water.
Jeez, if I’d be planning things would have been very different.
There wasn’t even a cooker so it was all cold, and vegi at
that. Buff wouldn’t have said no to a nice steak sandwich at this point but it
was a wrap with brown balls inside, balls that opened up to some sort of green
mush. Falafel they called it, and seemed to like it too, plus all the rabbit
food and sauce around it. Homemade hummus dip followed by some sort of lemony
sticky cakes and more water, the drink of last resort.
Over this lightweight meal I got chatting to the others such
as Isaac, a tech-head who’d spent the last six months skipping engineering
lectures at Auckland University to head out on a RIB to watch, video and learn
from Team New Zealand and Luna Rossa’s
training program.
“They thought I was a spy for Oracle” he grinned.
Then there was a pair called Ghazi and Samer I had trouble
distinguishing which was which so I mentally called Tweedledee and Tweedledum.
One was a fisherman and the other a farmer but jeez, who knew which was which.
They both had cream coloured slacks and thick black beards.
One seemed to keep to himself: Gideon looked like a surfer
dude with curly hair, wrap-around sunglasses and obligatory shorts and t-shirt.
He’d grab a bit of food then head for the prow to watch the leeward hull slice
the water in two.
As I grabbed another of those lemon cakes (rather moreish
they were too) Ali introduced me to Doha.
“Buff, I’d like you to meet my sister” he said.
Sister! Maybe I’d been so taken by Rachel I hadn’t noticed
there was another woman on-board. She’d been in the background, quiet, helping
out in a dozen places, and I’d only seen the back of her head.
She shook my hand. “You must tell the world” she said,
before turning back to tidy up the dinner.
Baffling: woman are like that.
Rachel and Ali returned from the foredeck where they’d been
inspecting the dagger-boards and foils. With the setting sun behind them they’d
been little more than silhouettes, cardboard cut-outs against a glittering sea.
“Is it time?” asked Michael.
“I want to foil” said Rachel, her eyes sparkling like the
water, and Ali, watching her, nodded.
“We should lower the foils then bear away” he said. “We are
out of sight of land and our new easterly course would be safe deep water all
the way.”
Michael nodded.
“Do it” he said.
Ali’s seemed to smell the wind, feeling for its angle -
which was a bit like putting your head out of car’s window while driving at 30
mph - then called out to Gideon who abandoned his vigil on the prow and bounced
over the netting to the port hull and winched down the foil, locking it into
place.
There was a slight upwards lurch, but there was still not
enough lift to bring to hulls clear, not yet, we were not sailing fast enough.
“Ready” said Ali to Michael.
The big man looked apprehensive, a bit like Brian Blessed
about to go on a first date. Gingerly he turned the wheel, and the yacht, a
flying building his to command, turned to port; slowly at first, but
controlled. Rachel looked up at the wing and gave orders to bearded twins Ghazi
and Samar who slowly winched, opening out the wing, increasing its lift. Isaac
and Gideon were at the other coffee grinder, letting out the headsail.
For a moment Luna
Rossa seemed unsure, like a horse when its stable door has just opened,
poking its nose cautiously outside. Then as if released from chains it bolted
forward, straining at an invisible leash, hulls breaking through waves with
clouds of spray. Michael kept his focus, adjusting the helm rapidly from side
to side, holding Luna Rossa to its
track. There were a couple of bumps as the speed increased, the showering sound
amplified a thousand times and then it was like the boat had been lifted by a
giant, maybe Neptune himself. Upwards we rose, hoisted into the sky by the
foils under us. As we climbed we accelerated as if a rocket was attached to our
tail until we were well over 40 knots, racing smoothly over the waves rather
than through them.
It was astonishing: we were going twice as fast as before
but much quieter. It was less like sailing and more like sitting on a train,
looking out of the window at the sea apart from the gale in one's face.
Doha came back to the stern to stand by me and Michael,
grinning broadly.
“This is amazing” she said. “Whatever happens later this was
worthwhile.”
I didn’t know what she was talking about, but she was right.
It was am-az-ing!
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