MYC 50th anniversary, as the years slip by

Former club commodore Noel Stanway shares his story on one of the good things about growing old is the memories.

As the years slip by, Noel Stanaway, Ahoy, May 1994 

One of the good things about growing old is the memories.

When one is young, most thoughts are to the future and its uncertainties.

As the years slip by, one of the most comforting things is that one can reflect on things which have brought our civilisation to its present status.

When 53 years of yachting memories flood to the forefront of one’s mind, the years vanished – for a short while, anyway.

Remember the first Brisbane-Mooloolaba yacht race back in the late 1940s? I do. And although I didn’t get to sail in one of these events until about 1950, the memories of those early events are crystal clear, thanks to the dedicated reporting of the late Jack Burden who wrote sailing for the Courier Mail under the nom de plume of Mainsheet.

Mooloolaba was chosen as the finish point for the first QCYC-organised Ocean race because it was the only Port with a reasonably safe bar to which an ocean race could be held from Brisbane on a long weekend and still allow enough time for the return trip.

To make this possible, the races started at the Coffee Pots at the Brisbane River mouth at midnight on a Friday and under average circumstances we would arrive off Port Cartwright from mid to late afternoon.

There was no settlement on the spit much past the old slipway about 100m upstream from the Coast Guard, no habitation at all on the eastern shore where the high-rise now stand. Most yachts would anchor in the main channel where the yacht club now stands.

Deep yachts of the like of Laurabada would remain outside the sandy bar until the tide was right for a crossing, and the deep but blind channel on the eastern side where the tower is now stand was the favourite spot.

The fleet consisted mainly of gaff riggers in those days, such famous names as Hoana, Mahra, Norseman, Flying Saucer, Sarais, Marais and Pronto Too, the Tahiti ketch on which I sailed my first Ocean race. Marconi rigs, as they were then known, included Doug Drouyn’s Seatang, which became Queensland’s first entry in a Sydney Hobart Race, Cimba and Snowgoose, both H28s.

As one can see, there were no ULDBs, just a lot of sound cruising boats being sailed against what was then a very successful international rating rule.

Racing was half fun, half serious, with most of the slower yachts towing mackerel rigs in the hope of snaring a north- bound mackerel.

Navigation to Mooloolaba was fairly basic, and fortunately in those days the pilot steamer Matthew Flinders was anchored on station off Caloundra Headland, lit up like a Christmas tree at night on the occasions we didn’t reach Mooloolaba in daylight.

Sure one yacht did clip point Cartwright and spent a few hours in the bricks before she came off unscathed, but with no lights around that was a risk we lived with.

Skipper’s Mooloolaba Pub was our ultimate destination and led by musician yachtsman Doug Drouyn’s and his scre-together cornet we would walk there in single file like the Pied Piper of Hamlin leading the rats out of the city.

My skipper would order for runs for the adult members of his crew and “two doubles sarses for the boys”.

We were about 16 at the time. How times have changed!

The first Brisbane Mooloolaba race was hijacked by a group of young guys with a beaten up old 20 footer, Cruisin Susan. 

Race officials refused to entry, but the Cruisin Susan team went anyway and beat the fleet into Mooloolaba.

One of the rebel crew, Ian Morgan, now lives here and owns Kawana hardware complex.

At the risk of being keel-hauled by the go-fast brigade, I would say winning was a bonus rather than an obsession in those early days of ocean racing.

We raced the boats that we cruised.

Mooloolaba was, and still is, a great haven and with those advancing years I spoke about earlier, it’s great the yacht club has been built because it says that long walk to the pub.

Without the late Doug Drouyn and his pocket cornet, it wouldn’t be the same anyway.