Our earliest family Marlays were in Dad’s Jubilee, but in the mid-eighties, in semi-retirement, my father founded Melbourne Trailerable Yacht Centre in Chadstone, when trailerables rolled out the door like caravans do today. He sold all different types, but his favourite was the Bonito 22, which he imported from NZ and distributed Australia-wide.
In 1988, I talked my then girlfriend and future wife, Lynn, into joining us for her first race, along with good friend Jimmy Henty, in the Marlay, where 651 yachts entered but only 169 finished. Two hundred-odd yachts elected not to start, which was a wise move given Loch Sport recorded 48 knots and eight boats sunk.
At one stage near Loch Sport, we broached and put the mast flat in the water. We were standing on the cockpit, a bit stunned, looking at the main in the water for what seemed like a long time, and I remember Dad saying, “It will come up, it will come up.” Of course, he had no way of knowing that it would — although he had probably read the brochure on the self-righting statistics.
I was a dinghy sailor at the time and looked over at the centreboard, but it was way too far away. Jimmy saved the day by releasing the kite halyard jammer, as the kite was holding us down, and up she popped.
In that race, we sailed anti-clockwise around Raymond Island, and I remember beating back towards Fort King Light. The big gusts would just lay us over and shoot us directly backwards until the breeze dropped to around 30 knots and the keel would bite and we would move forward — it was like snakes and ladders.
We won our division, so Dad was happy, but Lynn swore never to do another Marlay — and never did — quite rightly calling us mad.
This year, our kids are in battling Bonitos. I am crewing for my son Jack on his yellow Bonito 22, aptly named This Way Up, and my daughter Holly on another yellow Bonito 22 as part of an all-girl Sea Scout group. I am sure their Grandad will send down some fair winds.
