Tap dancing on a python

The floating pontoon pier in front of the Evason Hotel

The floating pontoon pier in front of the Evason Hotel pitched about madly in high winds and blustery seas. The old wooden one had washed away in Cyclone Nargis.    

On the rainy morning of July 24, 45 yachts were assembled for the Six Senses Phuket Raceweek. The problem now was to transport the crews out to the anchored fleet.

Heaving, bucking, lurching, undulating, wiggling, swaying sickeningly, the pontoon pier was a demented giant python atop which tap danced a scraggly line of desperate sailors in a jigstep waddle, heads bobbing, knees buckling, arms flailing. Occasionally someone fell into the water. We sympathised with hoots of derision.

I was crewing aboard Seraph, a 60foot Danish fishing schooner, for the second time. The first had been two years ago to celebrate Seraph's 100th birthday. Owner Tom Howard had laid on lavish postrace parties with a giant punchbowl of Pims, chafing dishes and a strolling saxophone player.

He was back again along with most of the old crew. At the helm was Chris, at the mainsail former skipper Lars and between them strategist Merv. Bill and Phil manned the floating stays. Holding court middeck were portly Tom and his schoolmate friend Ken, a deadringer for a downattheheels Victor McLaughlin. The boat's wags were Phil, former Canadian Navy commander, and Ray of the famous Blue Fin Tavern. On the foredeck scampered beefy Gareth, lissom Bang, nimble Bao and the baby of our crew, Terrance.

"You're going to love puberty," I told him.

"I'm 23."

The rest of our crew were grizzled experienced sailors with white hair and stately beer bellies. A Thai girl on a passing yacht yelled out: "I love you handsome young men!"

"Why, what brass!"

"The damned cheek!" 

We huddled in the rain until a late start at 12.30. We were the first over the start line in our Classic Class. Behind us was our perpetual nemesis the 30foot Nova Scotia fishing boat Kerita, winner of last year's race (Seraph came second) and the big squarerigged Idiom. Last was Barang Bahri with red Chinese junk sails.

Our course was around Koh Hi and Koh Aeo. After 45 minutes we pulled around the rocky headland of Koh Hi as Kerita nudged past us.  We threw up our secret weapon, the gollywobbler, a giant sail between main and fore, and were smashing along at 78 knots. Behind Koh Aeo, Idiom pulled up alongside and beat us to the finish line at 2.05.

The next day was even better, with 20knot winds tearing whitecaps off threemetre waves. The course was the same and we hit 9.5 knots roaring down the backside of Koh Hi. Again we placed third. On our way back to port, the headsail suddenly snapped off its line with a broken shackle. A few minutes later, the engine died.

"I hate Murphy," said Tom.

Bao fixed the engine but we wouldn't have a headsail tomorrow - we settled for a hastily rigged up temporary staysail.

This cost us the next day as Seraph couldn't head into the wind. We took off at 10.35, sandwiched between Kerita and Idiom. The course was just around Koh Hi but we tacked aimlessly for an hour and a half till we managed to approach the rocky headland. We pitched madly between steep waves, and the menacing black boulder at the tip of the island loomed closer and closer. The waves were smashing viciously against the rock, throwing up huge plumes of spray.

We squeaked past with just a few yards of margin.

"You can breathe now," Chris said at the wheel.

We gave him a round of applause.

It took us four hours to finish, miles behind our rivals.

Ray was washing the salt off his sunglasses in the water of the beer cooler when a lens popped out. He fished about fruitlessly with a frozen hand.

"Looks like we're going to have to drink all this beer," he said.

"Oh no! Please don't make me drink all that beer!"

"Please don't throw me in the briar patch!"

"Hey, Ken, there's a snorkel in the cabin."

Off the dinghy, we scrambled onto the wildly bucking pontoon pier and rushed for shore. Crew on the beach screamed: "RUN, FOREST, RUN!"

Ken fell in, provoking gales of laughter. At the seaside bar, he morosely laid out wet cash and a dead mobile phone.

"You're all wet, mate," skipper Jock Cromie called out across the bar. "What'd you do, work up a sweat?"

"I respectfully decline to answer on grounds of having to call you a ****. 

The final race was a sprint around Koh Aeo. Our headsail repaired, we dashed off the line first and held off Kerita for 10 minutes before she inched ahead. Around Koh Aeo, we threw up a ballooner and pulled far ahead of Idiom and Barang Bahri. We finished five minutes behind Kerita and popped open beers. But then we realised that we had a sixminute handicap over Kerita.

"WE NUMBER ONE!"

"Wait a minute," Chris cautioned. "The other two boats have time on us."

"The hell with that," Ray said, hoisting a beer. "Let's celebrate while we can."