A trip down memory lane- Odyssey and the Gleesons by Billy Gleeson

The heat near knocked me over as I stepped off the Fokker at Maroochy airport. All that could be seen was a runway surrounded by sand hills and a very lonely Surfair hotel was abeam.

It was 1974, the second Sydney to Mooloolaba race had just been sailed. I’d flown up to help deliver Odyssey back to Sydney. She was a brand new Duncanson 35 commissioned by my dad, John Gleeson, pharmacist and raconteur, and a member of Middle Harbour Yacht Club.

I was approached by a kindly muumuu-wearing, middle-aged woman. “Hi, you must be Billy Gleeson? I’m Nancy Blankhorn and I’ve come to collect you,” she said.

Driving south to Mooloolaba in a rusty Valiant she explained that her husband Bob and adopted son Tim, were the caretakers of the club. They lived on site in a van. Bob was looking after the bar and she was the only one sober enough to drive.

Tents and caravans crowded along the beach at Mooloolaba, overlooked by weatherboard shops and guest houses. Nothing was over two storeys high.  Chapel-like, the MYC clubhouse dominated The Spit;  we’d arrived.

The club overlooked a grassy bank falling towards a sandy beach on the River. Thirty-feet out a row of timber piles ran parallel to the shore. The yachts were moored bow in. More yachts were rafted outside. Jack Rooklyn’s 63 foot Apollo was the maxi. Bedlam reined.

The band was playing, sailors scoffed buckets of fresh prawns, empty jugs littered the lawn, yummy mummies encouraged those capable of dancing to their feet, weary sportsmen slumbered clutching empty glass square bottles, bemused volunteers sizzled sausages.

Bob Blankhorn and the committee justifiably looked very pleased with themselves. Nancy applied Band-Aids sympathetically to those injured.

The club catered not only to the yachtsman. It was a halcyon time for the prawn trawlers based there. The club was their early opener, being a nocturnal lot. For the most part they tolerated the yachtsman, sometimes however it was just too much, after all they were at sea most nights to earn their living.

A row of modest fibro homes sat across the road from the club. On the surfside the Moreton Bay pilots lived there. The harbour was really built for these vessels. They were on call 24/7 to meet and deposit pilots aboard ships bound for Brisbane.

Those pilots, their crews and staff also called MYC home. They didn’t seem as aggravated as some of the fishermen, and had many a good yarn to tell.

The cruising yachts loved the scene and were always welcome. Most boats tied to the fore and aft piles that ran through the harbour. They were largely a different mob than you’ll find these days. Most boats were home built, hardwood steel and ferrro. Gal rigging, second-hand sails and hardware was the norm. Fibreglass yachts were rare. GPS was a distant dream. The town was booming and work was plentiful.

Odyssey competed in the following two races from Sydney which was usually followed up by the Brisbane to Gladstone race.

The SCOR series in August was established and Odyssey travelled north for that as well.

About this time I’d completed my apprenticeship as a shipwright and Dad’s pharmacy in Chester Hill in Sydney was well managed, so we moved to the Sunshine Coast.

Rolly Tasker passed through the following year in 1977 and spoke of his circumnavigation of Australia; a light switched on.  No one had ever non-stop sailed around Australia!

Two months later, on 1 October, with much fanfare we left Mooloolaba headed north. John and I with Jerry Humphrey and Jack Weller (the chef at Dooleys). We returned successfully 68 days later to another memorable, will parts of it, party.

John Bates was our Commodore and the local fleet was flourishing. He even kick-started the Hawkwind Cup, the Ladies series and good they were.

The year 1978 bought a race from New Zealand. The Trans-Tasman Single Handed Race is held every four years. For some the challenge is between you, your boat and the finish. For others winning is everything. Witnessing the jovial banter between the likes of Peter Mounsey and Ian Kiernan was an inspiration.

The organisation and comradery at the New Plymouth end was extraordinary.

Everyone played on their own terms – there was never any eliteness. Odyssey and I sailed this race in 1982, 1986 and 1996 and enjoyed every moment apart from the moments I chose to forget.

As usual Odyssey continued to compete in the Sydney Mooloolaba races and SCOR series. We even got it in a Sydney to Noumea race.

Dad became Commodore and played the part perfectly. He even led the delegation to Joh Bjelke Petersen’s office to begin the planning of the MYC marina.

There was always a barbecue after the Sydney race at Dad’s home on the hill in Buderim. The MYC emptied on those occasions.

Dad married Jean on the lawn up there and their children, Kerry and Michael, followed soon after.

Winter had always seen the exodus of yachts sailing north. Always attracting yachts, the Whitsundays was like a magnet, and some of our members stayed. The charter industry gave hope to fruitful employment and weekend sailing among the islands we’d never imagined.

Such was the connection with the MYC a race was born. In 1980 or 81 Odyssey had a likely crew of John Gleeson, John Bates, Mukka Kennedy and myself. A 500-mile downwind romp through the islands of the barrier Reef, luxury.

I’ll always regard Whitsunday Sailing Club and the MYC in those days as sister clubs where everyone knew each other.

Odyssey stayed in the Whitsundays where I built a house on a hill. I still had the bug so in 1992 Gemma Mee and myself sailed her around the world. She sailed via Cape Town, New York and Panama, logging 32,000 miles, visiting 52 countries. We returned in 1996.

All up Odyssey sailed well over 100,000 miles in the 28 years we owned her; not bad for a 35-foot yacht that called Mooloolaba home.

She was sold in 1999 and lives on in Hobart, regularly doing club races.

I replaced her with a 43-foot timber Elliott that carries her name Odyssey.

Sadly, John passed away in Buderim in 2006.

Fair winds – safe land falls.

Photo – John Gleeson’s Odyssey. Credit – Billy Gleeson.