How to..
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Monday, July 3, 2006
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How to.. go sailing
Duncan Hall takes to the waters at Ferry Meadows. (6AL0621409) Picture: ANDY LAITHWAITE
WHEN I was at school, I used to love the Arthur Ransome books set in the sailing waters of the Lake District and along the Norfolk Broads.
Although they were quite dated, even then, they conjured up a world of excitement and adventure where the summer holidays never seemed to end, and youngsters could go out all day in sailing dinghys without fear of meeting a sweet-offering stranger.
The one thing that always left me confused was the sailing terminology scattered across the books.
With references to “jib-sheets”, “centre-boards” and “luffing” throughout the pages it was like reading about another world with its own mysterious language.
There was always a part of me that wanted to know a little more about why, as Wind In The Willows’ Ratty once said: “There is nothing – absolutely nothing – half so much worth doing as simply messing about in boats.”
So when Royal Yachting Association Recognised instructor Andrew Belson got in touch and asked me to join his crew for last weekend’s 24-hour race around Ferry Meadows in aid of the Royal National Lifeboat Institution, I jumped at the chance.
I wasn’t jumping quite so much when we went out for a practise run a couple of days before the race.
Not only was it an overcast and miserable day, but I could also feel how strong the 20mph wind was gusting around me, causing visions of capsized craft and swinging booms in my head.
Because of the climatic conditions, Andrew advised I wear a wetsuit so I didn’t get cold.
Getting that on was worthy of a How To itself, as the waterproof material tried to crush the last breath out of my body. They were evidently not designed for short, chubby people – although I may have discovered a revolutionary new slimming idea.
Andrew and I were joined in the Wayfarer dinghy by Andrew’s daughter Heather – a similar sailing novice who seemed just as apprehensive as I did.
And when the wind filled the sail I could understand why. Within seconds we were over the other side of the lake and attempting our first “ready about” – a phrase that seemed to fill Heather with dread.
Basically to “ready about” means to change tack – swinging the main sail around and the jib-sheet at the front of the boat. The people in the boat have to duck under the boom as it swings around and move their position to the other side to ensure the boat doesn’t go over.
Seems simple doesn’t it?
Try crawling through a 3ft square space, on a moving craft wearing a tight wetsuit, while trying to avoid all the taut lines and a big metal boom swinging over your head. Repeatedly.
All of a sudden, the tales of John and Susan Walker on the Swallow in the middle of Lake Windermere seemed very far away.
But once that initial discomfort was gone, I found myself getting into a vague rhythm with the way things on board seemed to work. And, when the wind got up, the feel of the boat pulling at the sail and knifing through the water was pretty exhilarating.
As new starters on the boat, Heather and I were put on to the jib sheet – the small sail at the front of the boat – and looking after the centreboard – a board lowered through a slot in the centerline of the hull which stops the boat going sideways because of the wind or the current.
This was the position I adopted on Saturday when I took the first hour of the 24-hour race alongside Andrew, who was operating the tiller and the mainsail.
The contrast in conditions on the day of the race couldn’t have been more different.
Although the sky was still pretty cloudy, following a brief spot of rain in the morning, the wind was much lighter, only about five or six mph, making for a much more leisurely sail.
Because of the better conditions, I didn’t need to worry about the constrictions of the wet suit either, instead I donned an old pair of jeans, and a few layers on top to keep out the cold breeze.
But the lighter wind also meant the way we approached the race had to be much more tactical than before.
The course was marked out by a series of buoys we had to go around. The way we got to those buoys was entirely up to the crew.
It was up to Andrew’s judgement, which has developed over six years of sailing, to decide where the wind was strongest and which were the best tacks to take to get us to each marker.
And when, at certain points, you found yourself sitting in what was pretty much a dead calm alongside about five other boats, tactics were very important.
It was a very strange type of racing – at one moment you could be behind a whole flotilla of boats, and the next you had swung out on a different tack and were watching them seemingly miles behind you.
It was all pretty baffling at first, but when the hour was up I was beginning to get the hang of what I was doing – when I’d stopped pulling the jib sheet through too early that is.
Although I only had a couple of days to pick up sponsorship, I managed to raise a total of £73 for the RNLI, through the generous donations of friends, relatives and those I could pick on easily.
The Belson team, which went on to finish fifth in the overall race, out of 10 teams, raised more than £550 for the lifeboats – and with the 10th 24-hour race set to come around next year, Andrew is already making plans on how to be victorious in 2007.
He said: “I really enjoy it. I love it when the boat is really moving, and the strategy of survival sailing when you have to get the most out of it when there is no wind. You are measuring your skills against other people.”
As for me, I’m glad to be back on dry land, but that’s not to say I won’t get out there again.
And with my new knowledge, I am seriously considering whether to get back into those Swallows and Amazons books again . . .