Satire: Adventure tourists head for the high seas

Adventure tourists head for the high seas

Less than a month after getting lost in the Nullabor desert for more than
two weeks, adventure tourism leader Major Jeremy Billycock-Smythe (British, retired) is back with a new, wetter venture.

"I want to lead a novice crew in the Sydney to Hobart yacht race," he told
stunned political journalists in Canberra yesterday.

The journalists were stunned because they were waiting at the doors of
Parliament House hoping to catch a doorstop interview with the Prime
Minister, John Howard.

Instead, Major Billycock-Smythe, wearing an Akubra hat, but unmistakably not John Howard, emerged from the building and seized the chance to unveil his plans, which stunned them even more.

"This is a chance for ordinary folk to sail in one of the great yacht races
in the world," Major Billycock-Smythe said, amid much confused clicking and whirring of cameras as photographers and cameramen jockeyed for the best positions without impaling themselves on big fluffy microphones.
"For a price, we will put them in a sleek boat, train them in the most
rigorous conditions and sail out of Sydney Harbour with the fleet next
Boxing Day."

The 630 nautical mile Sydney to Hobart Yacht Race, which has been raced annually since 1945, traverses one of the world's most treacherous
stretches of water, Bass Strait, which is is notorious for its short, steep
seas due to its relative shallow depth and strong currents.
In 1998, six crew members perished at sea when a mighty storm struck the
fleet as most of the 115 yachts entered Bass Strait. Competitors reported west and south-westerly winds of up to 80 knots and sea of 15 metres, some to 20 metres as a "Bass Strait Bomb" exploded in the form of an intense depression (the barometer dropped to 982 Mb in the race area) south-east of Gabo Island on December 27, maintaining much of its rage for 36 hours.
Seventy-one yachts retired.
Fifty-five crew members were rescued by helicopters and surface vessels
from 12 stricken yachts. Seven boats were abandoned and five sank during
the storm.

"Yes, I expect it to be tough," Major Billycock-Smythe said. "Wimps need
not apply.We don't expect to win, of course, but we do expect to provide
the adventure of a lifetime for a few people. Oh, and I might add, I have
never lost anyone at sea yet."

This is true.

But, as the gathered journalists at Parliament House knew well yesterday, he is notorious for two other adventures-cum-misadventures:

On December 14 last year, Major Billycock-Smythe, a former British Army officer and former mercenary and now a principal of adventure tourist
specialist Trojan Horse Tours, set out with three Australian men, two American men and a New Zealand woman to walk in thongs (flip flops) from the eastern end of the 260,000sq km barren desert plateau the Nullabor Plain in South Australia to Perth in Western Australia. They never reached their destination, sparking an extensive land and air search and raising grave fears for their safety. Fifteen days later, they walked into the small town of Cook, remarkably close to their departure point, having
walked around in circles. Police refused to let them try again, saying they were grossly ill-equipped for the trek.
In August, Trojan Horse Tours Tour launched its much-vaunted war-zone tours. The plan was to take adventure tourists in tanks on to the battlefields of Czechnya. At the time, Major Billycock-Smythe said: "Do you
know how many people, by accident of birth, are born into long-term peaceful countries and will never have the opportunity to experience the
horrors of war? We can give them that experience, for a price." Unfortunately, the tour had to be scrapped when the first intake of war-zone tourists were all captured and put into prisoner-of-war camps. Major Billycock-Smythe escaped, testimony perhaps to his British SAS training, his experience as a mercenary in six wars on three continents and time in nine prisoner-of-war camps. Although he was saddened by the failure of the venture, he kept a stiff upper British lip about it. "We have clearly delivered MORE than we promised," he said."Not only have we given 11 civilians a glimpse of life in war, we have also ensured a FREE holiday extension for them - in an ALL-EXPENSES-PAID prison camp. It's not an opportunity that falls into everyone's lap."

"What actual experience do you have of ocean-going yachts?" one journalist
asked Major Billycock-Smythe yesterday.

"Well, not much to speak of," he replied. "I did go ashore in an amphibious
vehicle on an invasion from the sea once. It could not be that different,
could it?"

"Where will you be training?" another journalist asked.

"Right here," said Major Billycock-Smythe, his hand sweeping towards
Canberra's main lake nearby. "We are going to start gradually, at the
northern end of Lake Bully-Griffith."

"Er, you mean Lake Burley Griffin," someone corrected him.

"Is that what it is called?" said Major Billycock-Smythe, glancing at his
notes.

"Yes, and it's a man-made lake, with flat water and land you can always
see," said the questioner, who spoke with the confidence of a person who
knew boats. "It's absolutely nothing like the conditions you might
encounter on Bass Strait. Where else will you be training?"

"The southern end of Lake Burley-Griffin," Major Billycock-Smythe said. "We
plan to taper off our training in early December and then run down the
highway to Sydney where we will join our boat."

"Your boat? Won't you have it here in Canberra?" the same journalist
spluttered.

"Doubtful, what," said Major Billycock-Smythe. "We will just have to make
do with what we can bring together here. A few sabots, I expect. Do you
know how long it takes a raise a former Russian vessel from the bottom of
the sea, clean it and refit it it for blue-water racing? I doubt it will be
ready until the night before the start."

"It's not even a yacht then?"

"Er, no, technically I think they call it a submarine. But trust me, come
the start of the race it will have sails and a spinnaker."

"Will you take a map with you this time, major?" another impertinent
journalist asked. This was a reference to the Nullabor fiasco which Major
Billycock-Smythe blamed on "this blasted Australian sky" confusing him.

"In England, the suns rises in the east and sets in the west," he had said
in Cook. "You'd think it would be the opposite down here, eh what? And the stars? How was I to know all the constellations would be upside down and pointing the wrong way?"
Major Billycock-Smyth extended his 6 foot 2 inch frame to its tallest, and
twiddled his handbar moustache, before booming:

"Our state-of-the-art vessel will also be fitted out with the latest
navigational and sonar equipment.
"As I said, I've never lost anyone at sea and I don't intend to start now.
"I'm confident that my crew will have the utmost faith in my abilities to
get them to where we have to go.
"In fact, that is one of the reasons I am here today.
"I have signed up my two chief officers, who say they are very skilled at keeping their constituents away from the rocks. They like to run a tidy
shipe, too. Lots of deck-scrubbing and climbing the mast, what."

At that moment, someone in the media throng spotted two men, wearing dark glasses and life jackets, sneaking out of a side door and running across the car park.

"Hey, isn't that Howard and [the Treasurer, Peter] Costello?" he shouted.

At that, off they went in pursuit, like a many fluffy micophoned monster
chasing its midday meal.

Major Billycock-Smythe was left standing along on the steps. High and dry for perhaps the last time.

©January 22, 2001 John Martin. All Rights Reserved

NB: I called this site Dunno because I kept drawing a blank when I had to put a name to it