Sterkfontein – race weekend 24 to 26 September 2004.
Who said race weekend ? I should know better – “race” and “good winds” are mutually exclusive terms. Anyway, being of unsound mind, and an inland sailor, I live in the eternal hope that there will be wind, as miniscule as it may be… just one gust. Please !
So it was that three of us departed Johannesburg early Friday morning, headed for fair winds at Sterkfontein. This was planned well in advance to time our arrival with that of the first early afternoon 15 knot gusts that the weather bureau had predicted. The forecast was looking awesome. A cold front on the way and 15 to 20 knots predicted for the entire weekend !! The three of us consisted of two sailors (me and Adrian Goosen) and one non-sailor (Leon) who certainly was not accompanying us as a result of his personality…I think he could cook and had the latest copy of the FHM. Oh yes, Adrian’s newly acquired Jeep was a gas-guzzler of note and we had to find some way of offsetting the fuel bill.
The first shock of the weekend came when, with car and trailer already full to the hilt, we arrived to pick up Leon. He presented us with his tent bag which took up two thirds of the rear seat and weighed in at about 80 kgs !! This was not your average hiking tent. After a 5 minute struggle, we finally got the &*%ing tent bag into the car. Next stop Harrismith where half the local Bottle store and the Checkers were procured and stuffed into the remaining space in the car. It was with great disappointment that, upon phoning Julian Field, we were advised that there was no wind at Sterkies..…yet.
Upon arrival at the dam we were confronted with a vista of beautiful blue water, majestic mountains, blue sky, many cars covered in windsurfing gear (as the wind had not yet arrived) and Hans’s awful frigging mampoer, dispensed out of a test tube ! One very small sip and the only cure for a fiery throat and stomach was to pop a couple of Rennies. Where does he get this shit ? Lo and behold, out of the grass appears none other than Coenie who I haven’t seen since a sailing session at Swartvlei about 5 years ago. Sounds like he’s still cabbing in the back of his bakkie and is very much a free spirit ! And here’s Andries and Julian too – looks like the full Bronkies team are here (except for Gabi who’s galavanting somewhere in Knysna/Maldives and Philip (some crap about work and making money ??).
It was time to pitch the tent at the water’s edge – location strategically selected to interfere with sailors entering and exiting the water with large boards and sails. This tent erection (such a nasty word) effort was frustrated by the following :
- It was a virgin tent (i.e. untested and temperamental)
- There were no bloody instructions
- Oh yes, did I mention that it weighed 80kg
- We had already consumed a couple of beers and Hans’s mampoer !
- It was hot
- Goosen is a kak supervisor
Adrian, the moffie, had decided to spend the weekend in chalets with his buds. This meant that Adrian’s mind and heart were not in the right place with respect to interest in the tent and his level of supervision was found to be wanting. After being told to piss-off, Leon and I managed to erect the tent, but were just too confused by the technicalities associated with the rain sheet and metal pole structure and left this bit off.
What’s this ? Clouds rolling in, temperature plummeting, wind picking up – is this the eagerly awaited arrival of the cold front ? Pandemonium takes the place of calm as 30+ sailors rush around rigging and trimming sails, plugging fins into boards, adjusting footstraps, putting on wetsuits….what? Where’s my full wetsuit ? Shit – I left it at home. I only packed my shortie and it’s way too cold for that! I run around like the proverbial blue-arsed fly trying to beg/borrow/steal someone’s wetsuit. Ah Julian to the rescue. He produced a late 80’s model wetsuit (pale blue and red) with full legs but short sleeves. What the hell – it’ll do. It looked a bit patchy and I think I may have resembled a sorry version of Spiderman but it was better than a shorty. Out onto the water we go. I think I had the smallest sail rigged (an 8sq.m – it’s my biggest) because the wind was very iffy (WNW gusting to about 12 knots). Lots of swell due to the gustiness which made for challenging gybes. On my first reach, I was puzzled by a slight whistling sound and an odd cold sensation on my left scrote. Looking down I noticed that the bloody wetsuit had a hole in the left groin region. Very disconcerting.
In the meantime, Goosen was in the throes of fine tuning his 9 sq.m sail till it was as tight as a bow. Having left his houseboy at home to feed the dogs, he had to carry his own rig to the water. To keep the story short, I will quote windsurfing basics tip #23 – don’t carry a sail on your head. I know this is Africa, but that mylar doesn’t take point loads to well.
I guess we had about 30 minutes of planing. After this warm-up period, the first race kicked off. The wind dropped and that was it for the day. By this stage it was 8/8 cloud and drizzle. Bloody miserable but at least finished off the day with a lekker hot shower – they seem to have fixed up the ablutions at Sterkies a bit – toilet paper on the ceilings and cable-ties on the showers taps have gone. That evening, Hans redeemed himself (with respect to that kak mampoer) by providing a braai for us at the hall on the hill above the dam. By this time it was “gat-koud” (i.e. so bloody cold, it makes a hole in the appropriate place).
After the braai, Adrian graciously offered to give me and Leon a lift to our tent at the waterfront with the intention of retiring to his nice warm bed in the chalet. It must’ve been less than 10°C ! However, he is not called “rubber arm” Goosen for nothing. His arm becomes even more rubbery when the alcohol is someone else’s ! Anyway, we spent the next 2 hours talking kak with Adrian consuming Leon’s beer and me consuming Leon’s Whisky (what is this J&B crap ?). After a while a shadow approaches from the darkness - It’s a sailing dude by the name of Gary who had been strumming his guitar (a real wooden one) all by himself in his tent (hmmm..). Our alcohol inspired laughter must have gotten his attention. Gary was offered some whiskey and so the evening become one of delicate philosophical discussion and the topic turned to “female organisms”. After we finally got Adrian to bugger off, we retired to the freezing tents.
We were woken up Saturday morning by Goosen shaking our tent and talking kak (again). Still overcast and drizzly. Cooked a stand-up meal of eggs, bacon and beer while watching the other sailors congregating in anticipation of the arrival of the front. Whoa, what’s this – it’s Gary looking sort of tender. Turns out he put his foot through his guitar upon returning to his tent. J&B -1 ; guitar – 0.
Saturday was one of those awful sailing days for the following reasons :
- No wind
- The only guys who got planing were Anthony Teal and his buds who all rigged 50sq.m sails and had fins the length of a horse’s appendage.
- Sunny, then cloudy, then drizzly, then sunny etc. etc.
The drizzly bits convince Leon and I to figure out the bloody rain sheet for the tent. After an hour’s struggle (and much amusement to the others) we got the bloody thing sorted out. It didn’t weigh 80 kgs without reason – this tent looked like a large version of the Taj Mahal. Suddenly things got comfy – we could sit out of the drizzle. That and the fact that the FHM was produced attracted several folks to the tent like a bunch of flies to a turd. After abusing our chip and beer collection, Adrian retired once again to his chalet for some beauty sleep – it did not help.
No wind. Picture the scene – 30 sailors all milling around wearing rubber suits but in various states of disrobe and comparing equipment (length / size) while looking frustrated. It reminded me a bit of a porn stars’ convention where the ladies have yet to arrive.
The rumours started spreading like wildfire and within 10 seconds it had become common knowledge that the wind was blowing a steady 25 to 30 knots at the Vaal and 20 knots at Bronkies. How is this possible? It should be blowing here!! We tell ourselves that it should be even stronger at Sterkies because it always blows more the further south and closer to the cold front one gets. What follows is utter disbelief and extreme frustration. It gets so bad that Jeremy Shaw jumps into his car and heads back to the Vaal. The rest of us hang around hoping….
As the wind had not appeared by 14h00, we decided to head off to the Catfish & Caterpillar (a delightful little travellers’ herberg at the top of Oliviershoek Pass) to watch the rugby. Now you must understand - to really make a sailing weekend bad for me is to have the prospect of sailing replaced with having to watch a bunch of hairy, sweaty guys groping for a ball (or each other) in a mêlées called a scrum. Anyway, being the only oke from Pretoors amongst a bunch of bloody Joburgers, and feeling in a windless, belligerent mood, I called the Bulls to win. It was with a certain sense of aggression that I was told to shut up. But what is this ? – is that wind we see on the telly ? First in Bloemies and then Pretoria. – the rugby okes can’t even get the ball between the poles from 10 meters away ! (well, except for the Bulls bloke).
After 80 minutes of awesome Bulls performance we all left the Catfish with the mood (with the exception of myself) being one of despondency. The rumour that the Lions forwards don’t wear any underwear has gained some credence. It’s the only way their back line ever got to see any balls in the game !
The heavy mist and windless conditions which had greeted our arrival 2 hours earlier had been replaced by clear skies and a howling Westerly wind. The front – it’s here ! But, but…it’s dark. We can’t sail in the dark. By the time we get back to the tent we estimate the wind to be about 35 knots. Extra pegs are used to secure the wildly flapping tent.
We retired to Goosen’s chalet to braai in the semi-calm of the patio. At 10 o’clock we returned to the tent which now did not look too secure anymore. The decision was made - we’d dismantle the bloody thing and stuff it into the trailer and sleep on the floor in the chalet thanks to Adrian’s friends’ kind offer. Luckily Julian pitched up and lent a hand dismantling the tent. It’s at times like this when I wonder why the hell I enjoy camping. While dismantling the tent, the wind was so strong that it bent a couple of poles. Tent dismantled and packed away – we headed off to the cliffs to look at the waves and spray – like being at sea. Julian measured 48 knot gusts !! Back at the chalet, with everything taken care of, that bloody awful J&B was produced and consumed out of plastic cups – it’s one of those strange experiences in life – standing outside, being buffeted by a 45 knot winds, chilled to the bones, talking kak and feeling very exhilarated – that J&B is potent stuff. We consoled ourselves with the fact that the front would pass during the night and leave us with relatively calm 20 knot early morning conditions. If was with this pleasant thought that we fell asleep.
Adrian’s kite-sailing friend Kevin was really pissed off the next morning. Upon waking up and hearing the wind groaning through the eaves of the chalet’s roof at about 05h30, he rushed through to the lounge only to discover that the “wind” was nothing more than the out-of-sync snoring emanating from Adrian and Leon. We were greeted with a beautiful vista of snow capped mountains. But…no wind.
What was left for us to do ? Pack-up and piss-off home. I felt sorry for guys like Anthony Teal who travelled 1,500 km’s for this crap – now that’s dedication. Next time we’ll have to burn a couple of Formula boards as a sacrifice to the wind gods.