FIGHT WITH CYCLONE

Sun (Auckland), Volume III, Issue 878, 23 January 1930, Page 7

FIGHT WITH CYCLONE

WANDERER’S TERRIFIC BATTLE SKIPPER’S EPIC STORY The experience of the crew of the Sydney yacht Wanderer, which was badly crippled in a fierce gale while taking part in an ocean race across Bass Strait, constitutes a veritable epic of the sea. After battling for 80 tiring hours against the gale the yacht was forced to return to Port Phillip. On the return of the yacht to Sydney, a thrilling story of the voyage was given by the skipper, Mr. Norman Wallis. “ \ LTHOUGH the weather was fair enough when we started at 10 a.m. the glass was dangerously low, with evil reports from King Island and the Tasmanian coast, and a cyclone operating in the Bight. At sunset the Wanderer was leading with the Oimara and I’hyllis 12 miles away on our port quarter. Although a fairly hard gale was blowing at 10 p.m. the seas had remained surprisingly smooth, and the Wanderer was bowling along at a wonderful bat —the fastest she has ever logged. “I was already worrying about my patched sails: we wanted the wind to win, but could we stand it? The sails were dreadfully weak and the gear was badly strained. At midnight the seas

commenced to rise and the wind was increasing. With great pain I gave orders to lower away the fore topsail. At 1.30 a.m. we were approaching the danger zone of the Hummocks, and I decided to go about. The glass was lower by several points—29.2s— I had ever seen it, and I was a bit frightened that something fancy and unexpected might come out of it. I therefore stood clear of the Hummocks, which are unlighted, and put aboLit on the other tack. DESPERATELY SEASICK “The sea had risen and the plunging and bucking of the ship was terrific. We knew all about gales by this, but we had never sailed through one under full canvas before. We should have considered it madness. But this, you see, was a race. The cabin was indescribable. The table had been wrenched from the floor (3in. brass screws broken out) and smashed against the bulkhead. The crockery jumped ouit of its pockets and every was smashed. The gramophone was floating in about four inches of Water over the floor, and had broken eggs, parsnips and the ships chronometer for company. There was no chance of clearing up. Three men were desperately seasick; one man was injured, and the rest of us had our hands full. “At 1.45 the pack hallyard carried away, and that was the beginning of the end. We set the stormsail on the main spar, but, though built of heavy ship’s canvas, it went to pieces immediately. We dragged out an old trysail and bent that on. It followed the stormsail all over the heavens. LAD’S FINE FEAT

“This work was terribly exhausting, and we hove to for a short spell and to look over our gear, and see what we could hoist in place of our main while we made up a new peak halliard. Reeving a halliard meant going up the mast. I would not go up myself. I. therefore, would not ask the mainmast hand. A youngster of 18, a magnificent lad, volunteered to go. It was extremely dangerous, but he went to the masthead and the halliard was reeved and the mainsail set again. Up to this point we had merely been smashing into a 60 m.p.h. gale with full sail up. There was soon to be a different tale. “The wind went flat out, and a deadly calm ensued for three -quarters of an hour, while we flopped about in a mountainous sea of about 30ft from crest to trough. The barometer was still 29.2, so we knew more wind was coming. It was a tornado, this time from nearly an opposite quarter—the S.W. The 'waves stood fairly on their heads and towered away over us in a fearful way. The wind was terrific. We struggled to put a reef in the main. It was clear we had got into the centre of the cyclone. “The jib jumped out of the bolt rope and soared up to Heaven. The staysail sheet parted, and the sail smashed itself to string. Whipped by the spray, and cold to the marrow, the hands, tied together with lifelines, bent on our last headsail a small storm staysail. The foresail split in the centre, and in an instant was a mass of rags. I groaned inwardly. I was being beaten by the very wind we had prayed for. LASHED TO THE WHEEL “I nursed the mainsail, but it seemed so certain to go that I ordered to lower away and put out the sea anchor. I was fairly beaten to my knees, with a great rage welling up inside, and suffering tremendously inwardly. I was lashed to the wheel from 11 p.m. to 10 a.m.—the buckling was not undone for 11 hours —and during that time I had seen six sails blown to pieces, and part of my crew working their magnificent hearts out. “About 4 p.m. the gale abated a little, and we roused our weary selves and heaved in the sea-anchor and hove the ship to under the reefed mainsail and storm staysail. I guessed we were out of the race by this, but I still wanted passionately to finish, and this manoeuvre meant we would not drift so fast. Early in the morning the wind dropped to 40 miles an hour, and we hoisted sail, and after working up our position as 60 miles south of Cape Liptrap (away to the north-east of Launceston about 60 miles) I took the helm again and set the course for Low Head (Launceston). But the sail had been strained to the last ounce. It would look at nothing. It tore off along the reef points, with a noise like all the sounds of hell in my ears. That, oi course, was practically the end. We were all strained and tired and exhausted. But I was still obstinate and hoped for a north or east wind to drift us back along the coast. “I kept the vessel pointing south, but was finally compelled to turn about and head for the Victorian coast. I would just as soon have jumped into the sea.” Mr. Wallis could not say enough of the treatment he received in Melbourne. “The race committee, especially our competitors,” he said, “proved the world’s best sports.”