Last year’s Pirates of the Underground boat party was simply one of the parties of the year, so when Deep As Fu*k announced its return, all other festivities this summer took a back seat. This was going to be something special. Waiting for the boat at the dock with a motley crew of pirates and wenches, it was hard to explain to the first-timers what they were getting themselves into. However, when that rickety boat came into view (half an hour late, just like last year) all the memories of that stormy summer’s day came flooding back. Costumes were adjusted, tickets presented, and with just a bit of adrenalin pumping into the system, the boat set off. Time to go back to that other place…

The boat is already rocking, literally and metaphorically. It’s a small, creaky, charming vessel that lurches with every other boat’s wake. James Huxley is laying down some tasty tech and a ragtag group of older hippies are swaying on the dancefloor. Sweaty sexagenarians with acid-weathered faces and missing teeth, pirates with linen shirts and thick eyeliner that haven’t slept since 1967. For the uninitiated they are a fearsome sight, but as the fun starts they become part of the colour of the day: whenever you look over your shoulder you know you’re going to see one of them lunging at you. It’s going to freak you out, but on this boat it will also make you laugh.

On this boat you can do what you like, be who you are, and you will be accepted. Pretense has gone out the window. There’s no VIP area. There’s no water taxi for the headliner. DJs get loose with punters. A guy in a parrot costume dances with a leggy Brazilian model. Even the boat staff are talking shit with the freaks. This is as close to hedonism as you’ll get. Toto, I’ve a feeling we’re not in Sydney anymore. The boat isn’t rocking as much now. I must have found my sea legs.

The afternoon is a spectacular one. The harbour shimmers as the sun sets, the sky deepening to pink and orange and red, a sprinkling of clouds morphing and pulsating. The boat itself is alive. Details are taken care of. Cargo netting and other fishy props are in place. The bar is serving daiquiris and margaritas, there are fruit and cheese platters and as you would hope, the sound system is pumping.

Musically, the two levels of the boat deliver all day. There’s party minimal with lots of big hits and big fist-pumping buildups, Total Departure (how apt), Espias Psiquicos, that sort of thing. There’s deeper stuff to get lost in. And there’s the fresher tracks that you’re guaranteed when you see leading talents like Deepchild. Acts from across the Sydney scene are oddly cohesive. Robbie Lowe and Tim Culbert mesh with Matt Aubusson and Dave Choe. It’s a pick-n-mix of some of the best our city has to offer, all killer and no filler. RifRaf and Marcotix, the Deep As Fu*k boys themselves, are on fine form.

The ‘secret’ guest is Alexkid, he who rocked the boat last year, a welcome inclusion. He’s also part of the colour of the day, a geeky, aloof Frenchman at odds with the costumed party people rampaging through the boat. On the dancefloor, the old hippies are letting their hair down, sort of like the Rolling Stones but messier. It’s a fascinating scene, a camp pantomime, an old-world orgy. It’s like the chaos of a Gangs Of New York whorehouse mixed with the bawdy rum-fuelled revelry of Pirates of Penzance.

In the middle of this melée is a wide-eyed Frenchman, belting out some stupidly good tech. He looks around the room at the scene before him. Sometimes his eye is caught by the harbour sailing past outside. He catches himself thinking, ‘Where am I? How the f*ck did I get here?’ He pushes in another mix and smiles to himself. Life is good.

Make no mistake: this was the party of the year. A huge number of people from the first Pirates party returned seeking something that they had not been able to find since disembarking from the boat last December. And they found it again. No other party I’ve ever been to has been able to achieve what Deep As Fu*k achieves on that boat with such a diverse range of people all on exactly the same wavelength. Beautiful girls, scary hippies, music geeks, Italians, Swedes, Dutch, Lithuanians, a conglomerate of cultures united in their complete escape from reality.

Something happened out there on the harbour. I want to go back.