Sunday, autumn, April 17, Inverloch, Victoria, Australia. A perfect day that ended with a young boy’s first taste of sailing under the guidance of an old hand.
By Ed Thexton
ON A recent Sunday, after Inverloch Auskick, Sam and I went down to the market. We parked in front of the bowls club and, after admiring the plants put in 10 months ago by the South Gippsland Conservation Society, walked past the yacht club. There were boats and an open gate so we wandered in.
After five years in Inverloch we’d never set foot in the place. Like everybody else who has seen the colour and magic of the little yachts ripping across Andersons Inlet, we had admired them with joy. Colour and movement. What’s not to like?
We met Ivan, Matt and Gary, who, apparently like all yachties, admit to a certain madness. Being somewhat naive about the world of sailing, we accepted it at face value. It appeared about right as it was a warm, still morning and they were all standing around in wetsuits. Inquiries as to how a kid gets into sailing morphed into “Why not do it?” and “Why not do it today – now?”
Back in 15 minutes with wetsuit and life jacket, we were down on the near windless beach with Gary taking Sam through the finer points of sailing a catamaran. And what a cat. The Pink Pig. A Pink Pig cat as a first sailing experience for an eight-year-old. Perfect.
No wind so the race was postponed till after lunch. I went up to the market, bought an egg and bacon roll from the Inverloch Primary School volunteers and then, with my remaining and only $15, headed to the curry puffs for Sam. I didn’t have a lot of time so pulled out the remaining $10 and $5 notes to pass across. In my haste they fell from my hand. As time stood still, we watched in rapt fascination as the notes drifted. Straight into the hot oil of the fryer.
The Australian Mint has made a good business out of inventing and selling plastic note technology around the world. They are far more durable than paper. But not in hot oil. They shrink. Still clearly identifiable as currency they were reduced to the size of a 50-cent piece.
Amazed and with no more cash and no time, I was generously given both the notes and the curry puffs. I scuttled back to the departing race controllers’ boat with Derek the skipper and Craig the officer of the day. Sam was already on the Pink Pig.
A magnificent autumn day, scattered clouds, warm sun, light wind and the still waters of Andersons Inlet. How grand to sit and watch the magic of the wind on sail as Derek regaled me with his youthful start on the waters of the Thames estuary in England and then even more compelling his wartime Joseph Conrad Heart of Darkness experience of sailing up the Congo River of West Africa.
All the while we sat and I took photos of Sam with Gary zipping past and even flying the hull of the Pink Pig. As a father you can have few more gratifying experiences. Finding that completely out of the blue on a perfect day you have introduced your loved young one to a new and adventurous pursuit confident in the knowledge that you have entrusted him to the competent while knowing full well that had the same thing been tried by myself my trepidation would have rapidly enveloped us, sapping his confidence, as I struggled with the only distantly familiar elements of wind, sails, ropes and water.
And that was the day. Sunday, April 17, autumn, Inverloch, Victoria, Australia. Rich. Enriched by giving. Starting with the volunteers of the first day of Auskick at 8am, further enriched by the satisfaction gained from the vigour of the plantings outside the bowls club. Followed immediately, by the spontaneous generosity of the South Gippsland Yacht Club members who unexpectedly brought Sam a new experience. With a side order of volunteer cheer from the cooks of the Inverloch Primary School and the generosity of the curry puff alchemist. And it’s only 4.30pm. But let’s just see what the financial system makes of the shrunken notes before we get too ecstatic.
First thing Monday, to the Inverloch Bendigo Bank. Just when I thought I was unique. Happens all the time, they tell me, especially when people iron notes in their pockets. The good news is the Reserve Bank may honour them. They even have a form. So the shrunken mummified plastic blocks complete with miniature smiling head of the queen have been returned to the bosom of the financial system.
ON A recent Sunday, after Inverloch Auskick, Sam and I went down to the market. We parked in front of the bowls club and, after admiring the plants put in 10 months ago by the South Gippsland Conservation Society, walked past the yacht club. There were boats and an open gate so we wandered in.
After five years in Inverloch we’d never set foot in the place. Like everybody else who has seen the colour and magic of the little yachts ripping across Andersons Inlet, we had admired them with joy. Colour and movement. What’s not to like?
We met Ivan, Matt and Gary, who, apparently like all yachties, admit to a certain madness. Being somewhat naive about the world of sailing, we accepted it at face value. It appeared about right as it was a warm, still morning and they were all standing around in wetsuits. Inquiries as to how a kid gets into sailing morphed into “Why not do it?” and “Why not do it today – now?”
Back in 15 minutes with wetsuit and life jacket, we were down on the near windless beach with Gary taking Sam through the finer points of sailing a catamaran. And what a cat. The Pink Pig. A Pink Pig cat as a first sailing experience for an eight-year-old. Perfect.
No wind so the race was postponed till after lunch. I went up to the market, bought an egg and bacon roll from the Inverloch Primary School volunteers and then, with my remaining and only $15, headed to the curry puffs for Sam. I didn’t have a lot of time so pulled out the remaining $10 and $5 notes to pass across. In my haste they fell from my hand. As time stood still, we watched in rapt fascination as the notes drifted. Straight into the hot oil of the fryer.
The Australian Mint has made a good business out of inventing and selling plastic note technology around the world. They are far more durable than paper. But not in hot oil. They shrink. Still clearly identifiable as currency they were reduced to the size of a 50-cent piece.
Amazed and with no more cash and no time, I was generously given both the notes and the curry puffs. I scuttled back to the departing race controllers’ boat with Derek the skipper and Craig the officer of the day. Sam was already on the Pink Pig.
A magnificent autumn day, scattered clouds, warm sun, light wind and the still waters of Andersons Inlet. How grand to sit and watch the magic of the wind on sail as Derek regaled me with his youthful start on the waters of the Thames estuary in England and then even more compelling his wartime Joseph Conrad Heart of Darkness experience of sailing up the Congo River of West Africa.
All the while we sat and I took photos of Sam with Gary zipping past and even flying the hull of the Pink Pig. As a father you can have few more gratifying experiences. Finding that completely out of the blue on a perfect day you have introduced your loved young one to a new and adventurous pursuit confident in the knowledge that you have entrusted him to the competent while knowing full well that had the same thing been tried by myself my trepidation would have rapidly enveloped us, sapping his confidence, as I struggled with the only distantly familiar elements of wind, sails, ropes and water.
And that was the day. Sunday, April 17, autumn, Inverloch, Victoria, Australia. Rich. Enriched by giving. Starting with the volunteers of the first day of Auskick at 8am, further enriched by the satisfaction gained from the vigour of the plantings outside the bowls club. Followed immediately, by the spontaneous generosity of the South Gippsland Yacht Club members who unexpectedly brought Sam a new experience. With a side order of volunteer cheer from the cooks of the Inverloch Primary School and the generosity of the curry puff alchemist. And it’s only 4.30pm. But let’s just see what the financial system makes of the shrunken notes before we get too ecstatic.
First thing Monday, to the Inverloch Bendigo Bank. Just when I thought I was unique. Happens all the time, they tell me, especially when people iron notes in their pockets. The good news is the Reserve Bank may honour them. They even have a form. So the shrunken mummified plastic blocks complete with miniature smiling head of the queen have been returned to the bosom of the financial system.