What is it about boating people?

A muffled grunt suggested the bottom of my foot had found his face.

Ah yes, it was “Maintenance” Murphy comatose with seasickness again and lying on the cabin sole under a dozen or so sails.

Maintenance loved his boating, but it’s fair to say that boating didn’t love him all that much. In fact he was crap at it.

But when I look back over a few decades spent around boats, he is one of the memorable characters I’ve had the fortune – both good and bad - to have shared boats with over the years.

His nickname “maintenance” came from the fact that he was the anointed one in keeping our 46ft ocean racer in top notch shape. His tendency to cut corners to “save the owner money” had a nasty habit of biting us on the arse and frequently precipitated a major repair bill. Saving money on halyards that cut through the masthead sheaves – that sort of thing.

His tendency to crash with chronic seasickness the instant we lost sight of land was another habit – amusing because we just couldn’t resist sitting there murmuring in his ear that we were tucking into a feed of nice greasy pork chops, bacon and seven day old pavlova. It never seemed to make him feel any better.

Whenever we did an ocean race, within hours maintenance would be crashed on the cabin sole where, over the succeeding hours he’d be covered by sales and sail bags and anything else that got biffed down the companionway hatch. That included seawater – and it wasn’t unusual on a rough race to see maintenance partially submerged in bilge water and puke.

I never could work out why he didn’t just stick to harbour and coastal racing.

The then was the character – who shall remain nameless – with two wives. He wasn’t actually married to both, but they all lived together and he called them Root One and Root Two. They would meet him at the end of a race and off they’d go, God knows to do what.

He was an absolute charmer – one of those who thought putting on wet weather gear was “poofterish” and reefing the mainsail was for sissies. Ah well, I guess it takes all kinds and I do believe those kinds of attitudes catch up with you in the end.

At the other end of the scale is a character I can happily name. Duncan Stuart – aka Cookie - who for years skippered “The Big Yellow Trimaran” Krisis. He was a hugely fun character who liked to have a “nervous rum” before a race, then another after the start! He ran Fisher & Paykel’s legendary staff restaurant and when doing the longer races like the Coastal Classic trays of fresh pies, still warm from the oven, would come aboard. Tucking into one of them as you slid up past Bream Bay in the cool night air was a sublime experience.

That boat’s done a million miles but is now in its dotage, reconfigured as a cruiser (with that god awful ear shattering inboard rotary engine replaced by an outboard and the impossible to get to toilet relocated) and Duncan is still enjoying sailing her. Like I say, attitudes catch up you and Duncan seems to be thoroughly enjoying his retirement – he certainly was the last time I saw him outside the Loaded Hog with a cool beer in his hand on a scorching hot day.

Gamefishos would have to be among the hardest case – I think it’s something to do with the hours and hours of utter boredom followed by a few minutes of searing adrenaline rush.

Many seem to develop a passion for shouting – and I don’t mean the type of shouting you get at the pub either. One mate of mine starts screaming profanities the instant we get a strike and doesn’t stop until it’s over. He doesn’t even know he does it. I once videoed his performance and replayed it to him.

“Who’s that swearing,?” he asked, refusing to believe it was him … and still does. The first time he hooked up this season he was so wound up his foo-foo valve failed and he couldn’t speak at all for a day or so. He was still hoarse when I met him a week later for a beer.

They can be dangerous buggers too – we were trolling in a 60 footer off the top of North Cape when one of the rods went off – and kept going as we had an obvious hook-up.

The boat owner and skipper had succumbed to the excess rums the night before and was having a nana nap in the forward cabin. Tossing up whether or not to wake him I went forward and advised quietly that we were hooked up.

There was a great explosion from the bed – the blankets tossed aside and before I could get out of his way he’d cleared the way to the cockpit and was shouting orders. Hardly two seconds had passed. I picked myself up from the companionway floor and wondered – that’s gotta be bad for a man’s heart, doesn’t it.

Characters one and all – where would we be without them?