The Launching of Maiwar
Notes on the feeling one gets from the realisation of a long held dream.
There ends another chapter.
Last Saturday was the launching of my new ocean rowing boat MAIWAR. Not only was it a most memorable day, but the realisation of one of my my longest held dreams. As this chapter closes the next one opens, hopefully full of long strokes and starry nights, stormy days and tropical lagoons, perspiration and satisfaction.
Since the beginning of my boating obsession I have dreamt of many boats; from lightweight rowing craft, to burdensome trading ketches and just about everything in between. There is hardly a type that hasn't captured my imagination: skiffs, schooners, luggers, ketches, sloops, yawls; rowing, motoring or sailing. There are a lot of boats out there to get romantic about. But the one that does is for me is a handsome little craft called MAIWAR.
She's not too big and not too small, she's pointy both ends, nice and fine in the bow and a bit fuller in the stern. She looks fit for purpose and ready for adventure, ready to take me wherever I dare point her bow.
When launch day came around I was brimming with a heady mix of excitement and nerves. The culmination of 1,000 hours and 6 months of planning, playing, designing and building, was sitting in front of me on an old slipway cradle.
She was launched the only way I know how, in the traditional fashion. There were well wishers numbering over 100, old sea dogs, sharp eyed boatbuilders, friends and family, from austere to eccentric and everything in between. The mostly older crowd was peppered with the faces of smiling young folk. All in all a timeless scene.
What’s in the name?
There was clapping and cheering, an ill prepared speech on my part, tears on my mother's part, and a healthy dose of champagne over the bow. With a nod from the commodore behind the winch, and a push from me, the single most important object I've ever owned in my life went hurtling down the ways accompanied by gasps and whistles.
The water parted as her stern cut in, her bow floated proud, and there she sat, one happy little boat cradled by the water she was designed for.
MAIWAR is the local aboriginal name for the waterway we now call the Brisbane River. It seems fitting to me that a boat which was built on the banks of the River should be named in a fashion that beckons her back to those banks, hopefully after a long and venturesome voyage.
That afternoon I had the strange pleasure of rowing MAIWAR for the first time. To me she rowed just as expected, and just as a boat of her size and weight should. Many others had a turn, and those who know liked the way she moved through the water.
The day went on as the sun went down. There was a good vibe in the air, live music, food, good friends and a few beers.
The rest of the night went on into the morning, in a warm blurry fashion. We packed as many people as we could aboard MAIWAR, something that I assume is a tradition, and if not, should be for any small craft. Estimates range from 16 to 18. All I can remember is being at the bottom of a pile-up inside her cabin, any claustrophobic shouts drowned out by laughter.
The night continued below decks, in the warm hazy glow of the salon of my other boat, ARANA.
At midnight we were packed in like sardines and bouncing and bubbling to some funky tunes. Laughter abounded as drinks were consumed or spilt. The night grew old and we began to sink slowly backwards into the bunks. Friends said their goodbyes, and I was left aboard with one special friend to see out the night.
As I lay in my bunk, quiet and content, it occurred to me that in the day that had been, at no point did I feel an overwhelming surge of emotions. Instead a strong and steady sense of being on the right path, pointing my bow in the direction I want to go.