Press area
Halcyon in Classic Boat Magazine February 2010
Monday 25th January 2010
The author Guy Venebles
Cuisine Cruising
Owning a yacht like this would (does) cost a fortune;chartering her, with a menu to match, is surprisingly affordable, as Guy Venebles discovered.
While we were tacking along Lower Road pavement to walk off our sumptuous onboard meal, Mustapha, one of the "guests" (aka freeloading journalist types) who worked for an Arabin superyacht magazine and who admitted coming from a culture where, in order to display one's wealth one would merely don a gold top hat, said something fascinating. Partley as a general remark about the modest outward appearance of the English, and partly in recognition of Andrew's relaxed and friendly hosting, he said that, if he'd stepped aboard after dinner, he wouldn't have been able to tell who owned the boat.
There were four of us, all from differing areas of the boating press. Richard, a big lovely heavy smoking old hack; Mustapha, the 1970's Omar Sharif in the modern day, Sue the saucy librarian type, and me, a very lucky cartoonist taking the place of the editor who was too busy editing.
I'd walked into Cork Airport arrivals lounge to be met by a beaming David Green (PR person) and, along with the other three,been whisked via the Royal Cork Yacht Club onto the largest and most beautiful "gentleman's yacht" ketch presently chartering in the British Isles.
Halcyon (CB229) is a classic bemudan ketch, 80ft (24.4m) on deck - 95ft (29m) with her bowsprit - built in 1929, beautifully restored and fitted with a small selection of those contemporary bits that make life more comfortable. There's a charming little clinker sailing dinghy and a powerful rib. You can have a hot shower and the duvets come from Austria, but there are still only two winches and the rest of the grunt is done with block and tackle. In the saloon the original clock and barometer look across to a discreetly hidden flatscreen TV. But it was when we sat down to eat at the (gimballed) dining table that we realised just how spoiled we were. There was a true genius called Kerry in the galley.
Fine dining
Once we'd finished our (all locally sourced) garlic and herb pate with La Reine Blanche Sancerre, fillet of beef with duxelles and a Champs de Mer 2000 Bordeaux, chocolate mousse and cheese with port, we started to get to know each other between stiffled belches. The owner, Andrew Armour, had made an amount of money in the oil business I'd only previously seen as a pinball score. But by his general manner it would seem that no one had told him.
After a night of contented snoring we sailed out of Cork around Roaches Point and at last out to see the sea. It was rough enough to make some of us drain a little colour but a steady westerly let her fly to its face. She rose and stretched and foamed through the waves, treating them with the easy comtempt of a thoroughbred racehorse at a local gymkhana. Robert and Ollie, the barefoot captain and his mate, grinned at the wheel so we all tightened our stomachs and filled our lungs while the cream sails purred. This was more like it. Lines snapped and cracked and varnished spars creaked. After a single tack we slipped into Oyster Bay and the sheltered calmness of the wet granite cliffs. Lunch was, once again, a delight.
I have often thought that the real talent of the rich is simply to surround themselves with truly professional people. Halcyon is a very good example of this. Annette, the "hospitality director", had that rare ability to appear at your side holding the thing you wanted just before you realised you wanted it and then disappear like smoke. There was a vase of fresh flowers that I noticed disappeared when the sails were set and reappeared on the dining table as soon as they were stowed.
On the way back and going with the wind, I took the wheel, jammed my pipe in my mouth and pretended to be Errol Flynn for a bit. This seems to be the point of Halcyon. It's about fantasy. Few people are wealthy, crazy or eccentric enough (it takes a precise equation of all three) to buy, restore and charter out a 95ft, 80-year-old bermudan ketch.
Infectious passion
The passion Andrew holds for the boat is utterly infectious and his offer to you is to have the luxury of living aboard her for a few days and then, frankly, have the luxury of leaving.
After all, running and owning a boat like this, to this standard, is expensive, full-time and difficult. You don't want to own one of these. You just want to be on her - and you can, all in, for as little as £100 a day per head.