"The Black Hole of Point Sturt" is the tale of the most infamous sailing race victory of the miniature schooner Flying Tadpole II 25 years ago, forever earning her the enmity of the fibreglass sailboat owners of the Murray Lakes. You can find the full story (illustrated) at http://www.ace.net.au/schooner/blakhole.htm It's true, all of it. Other than I can't vouch for the virgins, they weren't on my boat.
My intent this FAWM is to score out the whole ballad, with a view to using the illustrations and putting the whole lot up on youtube. I have had to change lyrics slightly, as always happens once trying to put to music. And I'm tripping over my recorders (treble, descant, sopranino--despite the sound, no tin whistle in this) perhaps because I've got the Cimar lawsuit bass hanging off me! Well, I did commit to recorders so I thought I'd better take the plunge. Hah. Though I have to laugh at the ending! (and, this song is output of the entire Feb 1 afternoon here in cool and not-sunny Mount Barker!)
And for any wondering why "Flying Tadpole", this tiny schooner is the reason, alpha but not yet omega. No, I haven't owned her for 14 years.
[Grandma sucking eggs moment] Boats tacking (zig-zagging) into the wind -- a boat on port tack - on which the wind comes from a sailing ship's port (left looking forward) side--must give way to boats on the starboard tack. It's one of the most basic rules of the water road. [/Grandma sucking eggs moment]
THE BLACK HOLE OF POINT STURT (part 1)
Lyrics Copyright © 2000-2021 TJ Fatchen Music Copyright 2021 TJ Fatchen All Rights Reserved APRA-AMCOS
Come gather round, you spotted crakes,
You water rats and tiger snakes,
You moorhens geese and rails,
You mussels, yabbies, snails,
And hear about the way we sailed
The race we stole the cake!
I'll sing again of racing dire,
Where many sailed with hearts afire,
To their havoc and dismay,
Yes! Havoc, and dismay!
Such havoc and dismay,
Our cockroach lit their pyre!
The schooner Flying Tadpole sailed
From Goolwa in the morning
Revenge she sought for honour smirched
By uncouth sailboats' scorning.
For all throughout the previous night
While her crew slumbered,
Surrounding vessels sneered and laughed
And vowed her days were numbered
Those leg-of-muttoneers proclaimed
"It's on the nose tomorrer!
And Scooner sailing on the wind
Brings nowt but pain and sorrer!
She won't win this race, that's fer sure.
At last, retaliation!
So raise a beer, and let's all jeer
At Tad's humiliation!"
Off Laffin Point, her anchor free,
Did Tadpole lie in wait,
And sniff the foul nor'easter blowing
Through the starting gate.
There came the start, the gun was fired,
The fleet in solid masses
On port tack through the line did sail,
Full twoscore stupid asses.
For 'cross their bows in line astern,
Their racing rules a-swinging,
Came Flying Tadpole, and two more,
On starboard tack a-winging!
Boats rounded up, boats bore away,
Boats tangled bunched and crashed.
Strange tongues their skippers bayed in
While their crews with boathooks clashed
"Curse you Tadpole!" was the call,
"You wooden cockroach boat!
But now the wind's dead foul for you!
It's our turn next to gloat "