Childhood Memories

Isnt it funny how certain events trigger memories, long thought forgotten, from within our sub concious. Litlle images or thoughts that can, without warning trigger images, faces and, in my head at least, certain sounds. It is just such a moment, that i am having at this time.

Triggered from news footage of the super maxis, racng from sydney to hobart, in the annual test of man against nature.

For those who just came in, the Sydney to hobart, is an annual yacht race, featuring yachts of all classes and ages, in a race down the south east coast of Australia, to the former convict penal colony, that we now call Hobart, in the Island state of Tasmania.

The race features the crossing of one of the most unforgiving stretches of water in the world. The stretch of water named after one of Australias early Explorers, the Bass Strait.

Each year yachtie of all types, experienced, and amatuer and a lot in between, jump aboard there sea bound vessels, and in an adventure i hope one day to endure, set sail on there boys own trip of a lifetime.

Of i digress again i hear you say, but you do not see me now, standing on the bow of the mighty Buccaneer, as again she takes on the might of the pacific, and the southern ocean. As the sea spray fills my eyes, neery a cloud on the horizon. The sails full the mast tall and sturdy, and the day shift loll about there varying tasks. The sea itself calm though we be a hundred nautical miles from land, it is like sailing upon lake placid in the summertime.

My pipe glows red as i watch the gentle bobbing of the stern of my ship, and as i scan the horizon, i see no sign of my pursuers, those that dare challenge me in this race i shall make my own. I feel the burn of the sun through my shirt, but many years upon the seas, have burnt my white skin brown so i fear not the suns glare. Today i am king of my own domain, today i am Nero, God of the ocean. Today i am black beard king of pirates.

But again i digress.

For i sense a change in the winds mood and shout my orders to my eager crew. We must tack and tack fast to accept all the benifits that this new wind change has to offer. Quickly and smoothly, the main sail is lowered and a slightly smaller broader one is raised and quickly filled. I can show nothing but pride for the men of my crew. For months specifically they have honed there crafts for this moment, for years preceding they trained unkowing, just hoping for a chance to be aboard such a wonderous vessel. I am proud.

I am proud of my ship and the way she sails. I am proud of the men within my crew, who with sinewing muscle strive to perform every command with the utmost efficiency and speed. I am proud of the men who designed her, buccaneer, and those who built her with such love.

I can stand here for hours, but i must return from the decks of the mighty buccaneer now. For no longer am i that child, racing around my backyard screaming, BUCCANEER, BUCCANEER, Come dog and hoist the sails". No longer am i that little boy, standing upon a wharf in the summer rain, Holding my fathers hand as i stared in wonderment at the ship that had been my playground buddy for so long. Soon i would have new dreams, new adventures as cowboys and indians, but that summer, for those few short days, i was the mightiest Sydney Hobart competitor, the mighty Buccaneer, of all time.

I write this for the enjoyment and wonderous childhood memories, that return to me each year with the Sydney-Hobart Yacht race. I right this for the fond memories of a time when things wern"t complicated. Of a time when i didnt have to be me.

I write this in memory of a ship that won a hard and long water classic. A ship that broke records, and etched a place in at least one mind, a ship they called Buccaneer.