A Yacht Called Erewhon (16 page)

‘Better bring your tennis rackets,’ I yelled, as I stepped over the rail. Everyone followed me up and gazed around the huge deck.

Mic moved up and stood on the bow.

‘Are you OK?’ I asked.

‘Don’t mind me. You know I get emotional at times like this.’

I smiled as we looked back down to where Dad and Sam were giving the remains of the toe-rail a close examination.

‘Bit of work there, Sam,’ Dad muttered.

Sam nodded. ‘That’s what I’ve been waiting to get my hands on. I always reckoned it was the one feature of
Erewhon
that wasn’t done correctly.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘I always thought the kauri toe-rail never set the hull off. It needed a darker timber, like pohutukawa. Jack wanted all the fore and aft timber to be full length, to add to the strength of the hull. We didn’t have the glues that are available nowadays, and kauri was the only timber long enough for the job.’

‘You reckon we’ve got enough pohutukawa to build a toe-rail?’ Dad asked.

‘Yep, and I could make it so you couldn’t find the joins—and it’d be stronger than the original!’

‘I agree, it would look great.’ Dad said.

‘I’d like to have had Jack’s seal of approval, though,’ Sam said, as he climbed down the ladder. ‘Shame he’s not here to ask.’

‘Can you talk to your Nana and see if Jack would approve?’ I whispered to Mic.

‘He already has.’

I chased Sam and Dad up the path as they walked towards the house. ‘Mic says Jack was never happy with the kauri rail.’

Sam looked puzzled. Dad turned to Sam. ‘Don’t try to work that one out, Sam,’ he said.

Sam stopped, took his pipe from his mouth, trying to think of what to say, then grunted and put the pipe back in his mouth. He blew out a cloud of smoke. ‘I’ll make a start on it in the morning,’ he muttered.

H
ey, do you want to go into the city tonight, have a look around the Viaduct Basin?’ I asked Mic. ‘We could make a night of it and get a closer look at
Valhalla.
’

‘I’d like that, Ben,’ she replied, which caught me by surprise.

‘Great, we’ll go early so we have some daylight to see the yacht.’

I was standing in the kitchen, gnawing on a giant sandwich to tide me over until dinner. Dad was getting another can from the fridge. ‘I’ll take your mother over to see that boat in a couple of days, we might have a—’ Dad stopped midsentence, looking past my shoulder. I wheeled around to see Mic standing in the doorway.

‘What do you think?’ she asked, as she brushed nervously at the front of her slinky teal dress. ‘Jenny and I picked this out the other day.’

‘You look stunning!’

‘You sure do!’ Dad added. ‘Go and paint the town red—that dress is wasted around here.’ He beckoned to me as Mic glided out the door. ‘Keep your eye on her, lad,’ he said, pressing a hundred-dollar bill into my hand. ‘She’s the closest thing I’ve ever had to a daughter, and I don’t want her coming to any harm.’

‘Don’t worry,’ I replied. ‘When she’s dressed like that, I’ll even follow her into the ladies!’

I hadn’t been into the city for a while, and I was surprised at the amount of activity around the Viaduct Basin. The harbour
was purpose-built to accommodate the yachts and their followers who descended on Auckland for the America’s Cup regatta. Mic clung to my arm as we walked towards the Maritime Museum. At the ticket desk I fumbled for my money, suddenly all thumbs.

‘Put that on my tab,’ boomed a strongly American-accented voice from behind.

Without looking up, I continued to try and pay.

‘No, I insist,’ the Texan voice repeated. ‘I’d like you and this gorgeous young lady to be my guests on board
Valhalla.
I haven’t seen her for ages!’ The speaker was a jovial giant of a man, broad-shouldered and tall.

I was stunned, and Mic smiled up at him.

‘Hi, TJ, what are you up to now?’

‘I’m the boatmaster on
Valhalla.
The rest of the crew has gone to Rotorua for the weekend, and you know I never like drinking alone. I’ll go chill another bottle while you have a look around the museum. See you soon.’

I turned back to the ticket counter and drew out my wallet again.

‘No, I insist, your visit here is on me!’ he boomed, disappearing along the dock.

‘Put your wallet away, Ben. He can afford it.’

As we came on board
Valhalla
, TJ gave Mic a huge bear-hug. ‘I couldn’t believe it when I saw you standing at the counter. How are you? Where’s Mike?’

‘Mike and I split up nearly two years ago,’ Mic said, as TJ handed her a glass of champagne.

TJ raised an eyebrow as he looked over at me, but Mic just smiled and didn’t offer any more information.

He grinned back and offered me his hand. ‘Hi, my mom named me Theodore, but I only answer to TJ. Welcome aboard. Help yourself to a drink and have a good look around. There’s nobody else on board tonight.’

Mic gave me a wink, so I headed off down the companionway to explore. If
Valhalla
looked impressive on the outside, inside she was incredible. No expense had been spared on the fit-out: it oozed 1930s opulence and charm. I nosed into all the cabins, and it was like looking into another world. Money can’t buy everything, I said to myself, but it sure can make a difference.

When I’d finished my tour, I returned to the saloon, where Mic, draped over a
chaise longue
, looked right at home.

‘Oh, there you are, Ben,’ she called. ‘We were thinking we might have to send out a search party.’

‘I must say it’d be easy to get lost here. She’s the second most beautiful yacht I’ve ever seen.’

TJ looked shocked. ‘Whaddya mean, second most beautiful? You’d have to go a long way to find anything as beautiful as
Valhalla
!’

I quickly qualified my statement. ‘She’s the most beautiful yacht afloat,’ I conceded, ‘but…’

‘But
what
?’

‘Well, there’s another J-class that will be even more beautiful. You won’t have heard of her. Her name is
Erewhon
, she’s a wooden J, and my dad’s the new owner.’

‘A wooden J? This I’ll have to see. Most Js were built in steel, because they couldn’t build them light enough in timber.’

‘Well,
Erewhon
is all timber and she probably weighs less than
Valhalla.
Why don’t you come out and take a look? We’ve just turned her over after a major re-plank.’

‘I’d love to. When can I come?’

‘Whenever you like. Sam and I’ll be working on the new toe-rail on Monday.’

Mic finished her drink and said, ‘Come on, Ben, it’s time we were going.’

‘You don’t need to go yet. The night’s still young, and we have a lot of catching up to do.’

‘No, it’s time we went, but come out and see us on Monday.’

‘That’s a date!’ confirmed the giant.

Back up on deck, I handed TJ one of my cards with our address on, and followed Mic up the ramp.

Mic took hold of my arm as we walked back to the car. She was positively glowing. ‘You fancy him, don’t you?’ I said.

‘No, I don’t!’ she retorted. ‘TJ was an old sailing adversary of my ex’s. We just go back a long way.’

I didn’t believe a word of it.

Monday morning found Sam and me stripping off the remains of the toe-rail. There wasn’t much left in places, but we’d managed to get enough for a pattern, and Sam left me to finish the job while he sorted through the pohutukawa.

I’d just finished, when a taxi pulled up outside the barn. The rear door swung open, and an unmistakable Texan drawl announced itself.

‘Where’s this god-damned tree-trunk you call a J?’ he boomed.

A shadow entered the doorway, followed by two large cowboy boots, complete with spurs.

‘Morning, TJ!’ I called.

I climbed down to find him introducing himself to Sam.

‘My, my,’ he said, as his eyes adjusted to the light and he turned to look at the hull. ‘Never seen a baby like this—she’s very beautiful.’

‘We think so.’

‘Yessir! If she holds together, with those lines she’ll be a flyer.’

Sam, a little taken aback by the Texan’s brashness, took up
the offensive. ‘She’ll be around a lot longer than that tin tub you sail!’

‘Ya reckon, old man?’

‘I bloody reckon!’ Sam snapped, as he went to find his pipe.

TJ circled the hull. ‘She’s magnificent, but it looks like you’ve got a lot more work before you get her back in the water.’

‘We reckon another twelve months, and then she’ll be ready to race.’

‘Do you think she’ll be up to that?’

Sam reappeared, puffing on his pipe. ‘I know she will be.
Erewhon
has some unfinished business,’ he said, emphatically.

‘How’s that?’

I joined in at that point. ‘
Erewhon
was built to challenge for the America’s Cup after Sir Thomas Lipton took it from you Yanks in
Shamrock V
, but two things upset that plan. Sir Thomas didn’t win, and the daughter of the original owner went missing, supposedly drowned, while the yacht was on a training run.’

‘What do you mean, supposedly drowned?’

‘That’s another story,’ I replied, with a wry smile.

Sam puffed hard on his pipe as the Texan turned his attention back to the yacht. I took him on deck and inside the hull. He was in awe of the beautiful timber finish. ‘Is this the kayori timber I’ve heard so much about? I never believed it could be so beautiful.’

‘That’s what’s known as mottled kauri,’ I said pointing out the internal bulkheads, ‘and the topsides are heart kauri.’

‘Amazing timber, and such long lengths of planking. What’s the dark timber?’

‘Pohutukawa—that’s what we’re using for the new toe-rail, but it’ll be laminated.’

‘What’s the point of that if you’re going to cover it in paint?’

‘You don’t paint kauri!’ Sam butted in. ‘She’ll be completely varnished above the waterline.’

TJ nodded. ‘Damn right.’

Another, smaller, shadow appeared in the doorway. Mic was standing silently, listening as TJ completed his tour. As he rounded the bow, he caught a glimpse of her.

‘Morning, ma’am.’ Somehow he’d changed from brash Yank to smooth Texan charmer in a breath.

‘Good morning, TJ. I’m glad you made it.’

‘It’s my pleasure to visit such a beautiful young lady and such a magnificent craft as well.’

‘When you’re ready, Jenny has morning tea up at the house.’

‘I’m a starter,’ I replied, and Sam followed me out the door.

Mic hung back as TJ pretended to be still looking at the hull. She moved closer, enjoying being near this colossus of a man. Gently, he drew her into his arms and kissed her softly. ‘Tell me, Mic, who’s the lucky man in your life now?’

Mic blushed. ‘Nobody, only this beautiful yacht. Come on, your coffee will be getting cold,’ she continued, as she eased herself out of his arms and headed for the door.

TJ took the hint: back off. He followed her quietly out the door. There would be plenty of time.

‘I did some research last night after you left,’ he said, as they walked up the path to the house.

Mic interrupted him as they stepped onto the patio. ‘Jenny, this is TJ from
Valhalla.
TJ, this is Jenny. Her husband, Jim, is the owner of
Erewhon
.’

‘Why hello, Jenny,’ he drawled. ‘You and Mic must be half-sisters?’ he continued, as if trying to piece the puzzle together.

Mum smiled. ‘Stop it, TJ. That’s all the flattery I can take for one morning. Mic is our dearest family friend, who happens to love
Erewhon
even more than we do.’

‘Yes,
Erewhon
,’ TJ said. ‘As I was telling Mic, I did some research after you left last night. I dug out
Valhalla
’s original log, because I remembered it had a section in the back recording all the known Js. An appendix mentioned a rumour circulating around the New York Yacht Club about a challenger coming from down under. They thought the challenge was from Australia and the challenger was made of timber. Everyone thought it would be impossible to build a competitive timber hull light enough to match the steel and bronze yachts in racing trim at that time. It seems the truth behind the rumour was here in New Zealand.’

Mic smiled. ‘It just confirms that they never took my greatgrandfather’s challenge seriously.’

TJ looked at Mic. ‘Your great-grandfather had something to do with
Erewhon
?’

She nodded. ‘Yes, he had her commissioned.’

‘Do you think you’ll really sail her, or will she become another museum piece on the Viaduct Harbour?’ TJ asked.

‘Not only will she be in race trim, but she’s got some unfinished business. I intend to find
Shamrock V
’s present owners and challenge her on the original terms!’ Dad had slipped through the door. ‘While we wait for that, we’ll take on any other J that wants to race.’

‘That sounds like a challenge I might just be interested in. Do you think you could foot it with my boat?’ TJ asked.

Dad stepped onto the patio and thrust out his hand. ‘Jim’s the name, and who might you be?’ he asked.

Mic stood up. ‘Jim, this is my old friend TJ. He’s sailing master of
Valhalla.
’

‘Pleased to meet you, Jim. She’s a mighty fine craft you have tucked away in your barn. I was just telling the folks how great it was to cast my eyes on the mythical wooden J from down under.’

‘TJ has a report in
Valhalla
’s original log of a rumour about a Southern Hemisphere yacht, which fits
Erewhon
’s description, that was circulating at the time she was originally sailing,’ I explained, as Dad looked puzzled.

‘Yeah,’ TJ continued, ‘but nobody took it seriously. As
Shamrock
showed, wooden Js couldn’t compete with the lighter steel- or bronze-hulled yachts.’

‘Well, you’ve just seen one that can. I’m not going to tell you what she weighs, but let’s just say she
is
competitive,’ Dad replied smugly.

‘Do you think she’ll be back in the water by the time the next Cup comes around?’ TJ asked.

‘You can put money on that,’ Sam replied.

‘If your boys hold the Cup
,
my boss wants me to bring
Valhalla
back down here. He just loves the place, so I’ll tell him we’ve got a race!’

‘You’re on!’ Dad replied. ‘Where’s the coffee?’ Dad sat back in his chair. ‘A man could die of thirst around here!’

Mum produced a mug and filled it, as Dad grabbed the last scone. ‘I’ve seen your tub tied up at the museum—she’s something special.’

‘I’ve been her master for ten years, and I still love being aboard,’ TJ replied. ‘Js are from another time, but they get into your blood.’

Dad nodded. ‘
Erewhon
has been in my blood for a very long time, and all I want is to take her sailing.’

Sam stood up. ‘Well, come on, lad,’ he announced, ‘we’ve got a race deadline to meet. Can’t sit around here jawing all day.’ We left the others talking and headed back to the barn. Sam’s pace had quickened, and he had a twinkle in his eyes.

‘We’ve got to get
Erewhon
back afloat, so we can blow that loud-mouth Yank out of the water!’

I smiled as I walked to the bench. Sam grabbed his pipe and,
with a billow of smoke, we were back on the job. I watched him inspect the individual pieces of pohutukawa closely. ‘I’m looking to see if I can interweave the grain, lad,’ he replied, when I asked him what he was looking for. ‘I want to splice the timber along the natural lines, so nobody knows we’ve joined it. Just watch and you’ll learn.’

He selected lengths of timber and carefully numbered them. Then we set about cutting and gluing the pieces together. This process took about a week for each side, but the effect was stunning. To the untrained eye, they looked like single pieces of timber. Dad came into the barn one afternoon as I was applying the sealer coat to the port rail. It glistened under the lights.

‘That’s bloody magnificent, Sam,’ he pronounced, as he patted him on the shoulder. ‘Absolutely bloody magnificent!’