son was a chip off the old block, and in a typically straight-shooting letter told the lawyer that he had no intention of negotiating for the yacht. The original agreement was that the cheque be filled in for the amount required, and that would be honoured.
It was decided that proceeds from the sale would be held and the terms of the trust deed redefined. The money would be made available for a sail-training school in Auckland.
Having no idea of the value of Erewhon , the trustees got in touch with the commodore of the yacht squadron. He, inturn, solicited Toby’s assistance, as he knew of his connection with the yacht.
Toby, who hadn’t been near Erewhon since the day she had been slipped, was appalled at the state of the grand old lady. Although still an object of beauty and awe, the ravages of time, wind and sun had taken their toll on the land-based hull. The trust had appointed a maintenance company to look after the yacht, but, because they had struggled to keep up the varnished hull, they had decided to paint it white to reflect the heat. The elements had further left their mark, and she was in a very sorry state.
Toby was duly appointed a trustee to oversee the sale of the yacht and pondered long and hard. In the end, he filled the cheque in for £200,000. He knew Mercedes would have been heartbroken at that price, but in fairness to Buffalo Junior and bearing in mind the amount of money he would need to spend to restore Erewhon , Toby was relieved to see the end of the sorry saga.
Buffalo’s son, Billy, on becoming the proud owner of the yacht, got in touch with Jack, through Toby, to make Erewhon seaworthy so he could sail her across the Tasman.
Jack, now close to retirement, was even more apprehensive about Erewhon taking on blue water, and tried to convince Billy to ship her home. But, after several letters back and forth across the Tasman, he agreed to make her fit for the trip.
Erewhon was refloated, and to nobody’s surprise the hull leaked like a sieve. Years of being high and dry had opened her up, and it took a week of soaking and pumping for the timbers to take up. At this point, the Marine Department became interested and laid down strict guidelines on what was required before she left port. Compliance took time, and it was late in 1960 before Erewhon cast her shackles from the dock. Despite her shabby appearance, the yachting fraternitylined the waterfront to watch the grand old lady slip quietly down-harbour and around North Head for the last time.
Billy had a delivery crew of six, and some of those who watched were uneasy, wondering if that would be enough for the yacht’s safety. Jack said that more crew were needed, but the Aussies were confident. The weather forecast warned of an impending storm from the south, its likely path up the coast. Billy laughed. He’d seen the forecast, too, and was sure they’d be around North Cape and well out into the Tasman before the storm passed under their stern. He could see no sense in delaying their start if they could outrun the wind, and bid Jack and New Zealand farewell.
The storm’s progress up the coast was far more rapid than predicted, and a ponderous Erewhon , under storm rig, couldn’t outrun it. The six crew struggled valiantly with the huge sails but had nowhere near enough strength to control the yacht, so they hove to under the lee of the cliffs on the southern shore at the mouth of the Waiora River.
The seaway was massive, and the huge sails flogged violently as they rounded the south headland into the mouth of the river. The yacht was out of control as the crew fought on, and only stopped when, with a sickening crunch, the keel bit into an unmarked reef, ripping off the hull. The men were thrown into the water, and all six perished in the foaming cauldron, their bodies later washed up on the beach at the north side of the river mouth.
Billy, who had been at the helm, managed to stay with the yacht by hanging onto the huge steering
It was decided that proceeds from the sale would be held and the terms of the trust deed redefined. The money would be made available for a sail-training school in Auckland.
Having no idea of the value of Erewhon , the trustees got in touch with the commodore of the yacht squadron. He, inturn, solicited Toby’s assistance, as he knew of his connection with the yacht.
Toby, who hadn’t been near Erewhon since the day she had been slipped, was appalled at the state of the grand old lady. Although still an object of beauty and awe, the ravages of time, wind and sun had taken their toll on the land-based hull. The trust had appointed a maintenance company to look after the yacht, but, because they had struggled to keep up the varnished hull, they had decided to paint it white to reflect the heat. The elements had further left their mark, and she was in a very sorry state.
Toby was duly appointed a trustee to oversee the sale of the yacht and pondered long and hard. In the end, he filled the cheque in for £200,000. He knew Mercedes would have been heartbroken at that price, but in fairness to Buffalo Junior and bearing in mind the amount of money he would need to spend to restore Erewhon , Toby was relieved to see the end of the sorry saga.
Buffalo’s son, Billy, on becoming the proud owner of the yacht, got in touch with Jack, through Toby, to make Erewhon seaworthy so he could sail her across the Tasman.
Jack, now close to retirement, was even more apprehensive about Erewhon taking on blue water, and tried to convince Billy to ship her home. But, after several letters back and forth across the Tasman, he agreed to make her fit for the trip.
Erewhon was refloated, and to nobody’s surprise the hull leaked like a sieve. Years of being high and dry had opened her up, and it took a week of soaking and pumping for the timbers to take up. At this point, the Marine Department became interested and laid down strict guidelines on what was required before she left port. Compliance took time, and it was late in 1960 before Erewhon cast her shackles from the dock. Despite her shabby appearance, the yachting fraternitylined the waterfront to watch the grand old lady slip quietly down-harbour and around North Head for the last time.
Billy had a delivery crew of six, and some of those who watched were uneasy, wondering if that would be enough for the yacht’s safety. Jack said that more crew were needed, but the Aussies were confident. The weather forecast warned of an impending storm from the south, its likely path up the coast. Billy laughed. He’d seen the forecast, too, and was sure they’d be around North Cape and well out into the Tasman before the storm passed under their stern. He could see no sense in delaying their start if they could outrun the wind, and bid Jack and New Zealand farewell.
The storm’s progress up the coast was far more rapid than predicted, and a ponderous Erewhon , under storm rig, couldn’t outrun it. The six crew struggled valiantly with the huge sails but had nowhere near enough strength to control the yacht, so they hove to under the lee of the cliffs on the southern shore at the mouth of the Waiora River.
The seaway was massive, and the huge sails flogged violently as they rounded the south headland into the mouth of the river. The yacht was out of control as the crew fought on, and only stopped when, with a sickening crunch, the keel bit into an unmarked reef, ripping off the hull. The men were thrown into the water, and all six perished in the foaming cauldron, their bodies later washed up on the beach at the north side of the river mouth.
Billy, who had been at the helm, managed to stay with the yacht by hanging onto the huge steering
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