|
Highlights:
Sailing in very big wind and staying mostly upright. Screaming along and surfing downwind without the Bitch, digging the bow in.
Downers:
Orienteering was never my strong point. Not having a map. Not being able to read properly
Result:
Flat last. 5th from 5
Lessons Learnt:
Learn to read simple instructions, written in plain English. Read the instructions before the race. Always question crew decisions. Never allow the crew to think for even one minute that I know anything at all. I am here simply to steer. Nothing else. Do not ask me where we're going. Never assume that because the skipper's shorts may be drier than the crew's shorts that that is a good place to keep the sailing instructions, because - let me tell you - it isn't.
|
|
....... |
Race 6 Spring Series. Long inshore. Friday 4th June
Wind 17 - 20, building to 22 with gusts of more, Strong wind warning. North West.
This time it's Andy who has decided that sailing is only second place to his family; his wedding anniversary and his start of a family trip to the UK. I can never understand crew. They're supposed to be highly motivated, highly unpaid and dedicated... Perhaps I should serve tots of rum before the mast. But things are looking up: Freddy has come to the rescue and, after the terrible ordeal of double broaches last race, has, enthusiastically volunteered for today.
Driving down to the Club, I wonder at the wind. It seems well over 25 knots and I worry that we may not race. But all's well - Ken has been out and measured 17 knots gusting to 19, so thankfully we are indeed racing today. Our briefing at 09:30 is uneventful and we prepare the boat, setting in a reef before we venture out, as the wind seems far closer to Ken's magical 24.9 knots. (25, and we don't race). We cruise down to the start and bash about to get the feel of the conditions, gybing and tacking, hardening up and bearing off.
Countdown from 5 minutes sees us well out to Port of the usual west Pole / Pumphouse transit start, and start time sees us late by about 20 seconds, but we're at the preferred end of the line, harden up and pointing high head up to the Green'n'White. Although late we arrive at the top mark ahead of all the others, round this and head on a broad reach down to Earth Station. The wind is gusting gustily to say the least, and it's well over 25 knots! So we decide (after the broaches of last race) not to raise the Bitch, which we find on flaking it properly, is ripped anyway. Damn, we could have declared no spinnaker...
Around Earth Station we reach across to Shoal Spar before beating back to west Pole. The waves are huge and we're virtually surfing on a reach, but it's only when we turn for the beat that we discover just how lumpy they are. There's a strong spring tide piling into a strong wind, kicking up a lot of white water and steep, sharp chop, so it takes a bit of zig-zagging to try and ease Jackal upwind without getting stopped dead. And of course we take huge wallops of water over us. But this time it's Hamish, back in Bahrain, who acts as spray dodger. Trouble is he's nothing like wide enough and yes, you guessed it, our skipper gets splashed as well - at least four times. Helming is hard work, trying to keep Jackal upright, not suffering too much drift and maintaining forward lift is tricky. We're totally lee under, especially on tacks where the chop is slamming our speed to zero. The boat gets pushed flat by the wind (now over 30 knots), digs her side in deep and I have to force her to round up, coming upright and then bear off to forward speed again.
We round the top mark and head for Pumphouse Port bouy and rounding this run back to Shoal Spar. Another beat sees us gain on the fleet. We estimate a good 17 to 20 minutes after just over an hour, so we're in good shape. Very good shape. The crew start chatting expectantly about a possible victory. I try to quell this idle gossip before it takes proper hold and distracts the crew from their duties. Handing the course directions to Freddy, after a quick glance I confirm, "yes, another reach to Pumphouse. We're doing another triangle, same as before". Freddy confirms this, "Yes, it's two triangles in a row". So we head for Pumphouse again. We scream around the mark.
Looking at the other boats still beating up to West Pole it's obvious that we've gained more. Further down towards Shoal Spar I ask where the others are. "Nowhere near Pumphouse" is the reply. "Where?", I ask, "halfway?" The answer is not what I expect: "They're all heading straight down to Shoal Spar"
I can't believe it. They must all be sailing the short course. This is the most tragic moment of my extensive racing career. We've just sailed an extra two legs worth and thrown all our gains away. Good and proper. We round Shoal Spar about two minutes ahead of the others and finish a dismal five minutes ahead to be soundly beaten by everyone. Last. Nobody after us at all. And we could have won! Well, at least that was the chatter from the crew before we decided to sail the high road! I think I prefer broaching. At least that's cool and kind of macho. This isn't.
So it's back to the clubhouse to never-ending humiliation and friendly laughter. Grrr. I hate it when this sort of thing happens. Never trust a helm to read sailing instructions. And all because everyone figured that I would have the only dry pockets to keep the bloody A4 sheet of paper.
Next time, I definately want a map. With directional arrows. These written instructions are far too technical.
|
