Scott McKercher avenges a painful loss at the 1984 Windsurfer Worlds by managing to write those wrongs with a picket fence victory at the Windsurfer World Championships in Perth, Western Australia.
Words: Scott McKercher Photos: Shane Baker
I’ve used this quote a couple of times in previous storytelling, taken from a book read years ago, somewhere in the years drifting around the planet under the guise of a professional windsurfer. It was by Gabriel Garcia Marquez from the book “100 Years of Solitude” when there was a point where he realised life was not linear, but indeed cyclical.
Which is what is in fact happening in my windsurfing story, with the World Windsurfer Class Championships coming back to Perth last December. In 1984, the Worlds were held at the Nedlands Yacht Club on the Swan River where I as a 14-year-old along with my mates, Mike Galvin, Ash Nicol and Grant Betts. We trained every day after school in excited preparation with hours upon hours of staring at the nose of the old wally’s.
And now 39 years later, it’s like entering a time machine, with myself and Mike Galvin frothing over the fact the Worlds were returning. We’ve be out there training again, staring at a slightly different shaped nose, but still the same winning concept which made windsurf racing so accessible back in the day. One design in any wind conditions with minimal cash outlay. However, this time I’m in the super heavy weights, whereas when I was a 14-year-old, I was a whippet of a lightweight.
They’re not lightning quick like slalom racing or foil racing, but they’re also a lot easier on the body which enables the gentrified to still get out there racing. Also, to be honest there’s a tonne more tactics involved with the board going slower, which brings reading winds shifts back into the equation with quick tacks. (Not just the lay line stuff of foil racing today). We’re yachting again.
They’re also multi-dimensional in that there’s the light wind, medium and strong wind aspects all coming into play throughout a regatta. Plus the smallest of trim changes can make such subtle differences which lead to large distances over the course of a race. In light airs, it’s how you weight yourself hanging off the boom and your weight placement which becomes critical. In medium airs you are trying to stay light and get the board on rail, while in strong wind it’s all about maximising control.
What I’ve most fallen in love with again is getting into the zone upwind in 15 knots when you get the board up on rail. It’s such a satori sensation, rail and daggerboard balanced against the centre of effort of that simplistic sail. Yet even though it’s such a simple craft, we’re still figuring out that the minutest trim setting changes can affect performance.
I guess you call it a midlife crisis trying to recapture your youth, but it’s also like I’ve re-found my innocence gaining such enjoyment from such a basic craft, whilst maintaining that competitive itch that never seems to go away. (There’s a big difference between growing up and growing old).
What happened back in 1984 was pretty much life transformational. Giving me a taste of competitive windsurfing on a global stage, which gave me the belief that this was to be my life path. Even though it didn’t really pan out as I hoped. The Marathon was first with 450 odd competitors on one start line with multiple general recalls, to put it simply, it was hectic. However, in the melee of it all I managed to get away cleanly and was up around my heroes at the front of the fleet – eventually finishing around 10th or 11th position. Then in my first race in the lightweight division I took the win and in the second race I earned a third, meaning I was sitting on top of the world after the opening day.
The local news was all over me with interviews on the telly and I then started to believe the hype. However, it all came crashing down upon me. The next day I had a couple of shockers finishing deep, which just crushed me. The news was also there to capture that moment too, filming me sobbing under a caravan trying to get away from the cameras with my big brother ushering away the reporters.
I didn’t win, but the seeds of belief were cast which sparked the desire, which led to a professional career in windsurfing spanning 16 years – ultimately culminating in becoming the Men’s PWA Wave World Champion in 2004.
And now time travel back to the future.
Like 1984, I also had a great first day on the water with a first and a second, which saw me sitting in equal first with seasoned sailor, Matty Whitnall.
Day 2 of the event saw uncannily similar winds and course location (just off of Flying Squadron), which was exactly the same as 40 years earlier.
Sailing up to the start I had this foreboding sensation that history was going to repeat itself, but thankfully it wasn’t the case. A clean start and a healthy lead in the first race of the morning, followed by a come from behind win over Matty on the last reaching leg gave me a couple of bullets, helping to bury the past a little, but you can never ever be complacent as anything can happen, as it did in the first race of the afternoon.
I was holding a decent lead in the third, when the wind picked up and my daggerboard gasket fell off, which is tantamount to dragging a bucket of water behind the board. AKA super slow. I still managed to drag myself across the finish line in third, but I desperately needed to head back to the beach to sort this situation out and all in time before the start of the next race, which had me mildly panicking like hell. (Were the wheels falling off?)
Thankfully, I had just enough time to get back to South Perth, sling a new gasket on before the start of the next race, where it was now properly windy and I managed to win by about a leg. Phew! Mild panic over!
We then had a lovely New Year’s Eve party, where we probably had a few too many, but this was the joy of this particular event. A lot of people (especially team NSW/Peroni Club) were on the beers with a high level of socialising. With many of the legends, Scotty O’Conner, Mark Paul, Stuart Gilbert, Bruce Kendall, Bruce Wylie, etc, etc. It was a great event, which brought everyone back together after so many years.
We then dusted ourselves off and had the Marathon the next day, where it was forecast to be a proper belting sea breeze. And it eventuated. 250 people on a start line and what a start line it was. It was huge, with plenty of room to find some space as it ran along the freeway with the pin being right in under the South of Perth Yacht Club.
Nervous of a rapidly filling in sea breeze I went mid-fleet, Tim Gourlay (previous world champ went by the boat), but the star was Mike Galvin, who went port tack and crossed the whole fleet, which is a monumental effort deciding go on port against 250 people, but he absolutely nailed it. It was a hell of a race, with the wind filling in as the race progressed, so the people who set up for the light airs at the beginning were getting their sockets ripped out by the end.
Having to tack off due to a high pointing Scotty O’Conner I crossed in front of Tim, who nailed the start at the boat, so I was definitely not at the favoured end as we set about trying to hunt down the leaders. We were both slowly pegging people off, but Dennis Winstanly and Lars Kleppich were having a right royal ding dong battle at the front. With the lead changing hands several times, it was Lars who eventually took the win in what was literally an epic race.
The last few races of the course racing were held in pretty fresh easterly winds, which uncharacteristically hung around all day. Again, I was already nervous with Matty sitting in his car when I rocked up to the car park in his gear having already been sailing. However, the time we all put in on the water must have paid off, as I just had better board speed and managed to keep going the right way in the flukey easterly to secure three more bullets. I owe a HUGE thanks to Craig Bell for one of those bullets, after he saved me from my fading brain on the first race with an “Oi” as I was heading straight to the finish without going round the start pin (Like we had been doing all week). That was the truest sign of decency ever.
So, dropping a second and a third, I managed to finish with a picket fence, (straight firsts) which was indeed extremely gratifying and feels like closing the book on the past somehow. Or is it just the start of another chapter. ☺ The love for the Windsurfer LT is real.
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