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Highlights:
Bob falling straight through the hatchway backwards while trying to remain in control during a very calm tack. An unhurried, light air tack, and what does he do? Lose control, lose his footing and float [very ungracefully] through the hatch, arse first, snapping the spinnaker bag from its mountings.... (hope his back's alright); Hamish chucking virtually continuously over the side; catching Organised Kaos so massively on leg three (tee-hee); realization that we have a good coordinated crew that sail the boat as a team. (the last is just there for team moral).
Downers:
Another skipper collapsing with heat stroke requiring an ambulance at the Club; our broken pulpit - thanks Colin; the bloody engine (it's new); the fact that because the wind died and so many others DNF, our victory was blamed on the wind - or lack thereof. Endless remarks about dogs doing doggy-paddle.
Result:
One from One. Five races to go. The Regatta looks promising as well. We just have to retain our incredibly coordinated, team approach. Yeah right!
Lessons Learnt:
Force-feed Hamish anti-vomit pills before every race; Force-feed Hamish even if we're not racing, just in case; Don't be late at the start; Tie Bob down properly and don't let him touch anything; Remind the skipper to shout louder, especially leaving the dock under tow.
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Race 1 Autumn Series. Medium Inshore. Friday 3rd October
Wind 12-17 Southerly forecast
Out of bed early (despite what Ken says), not nice on the one-day-off-a-week. Try to understand the forecast (spoken in incomprehensible English from Bahrain's weather service). Wind Southerly, so that's unusual. It's hot. What was the strength again?
Frantic packing of the car with sails, tools, spinnaker, and water and off to the BYC. Andy as usual is early, ( - after all, I'm the skipper, so....I'm allowed to be late) It's right and proper to get there and find all the sheets rigged and boat prepared. Following an exhausting photo-call with our team photographer, Skippers' briefing is 10:00 for a start an hour later. A quick time-check, signing on and course briefing later we're on board and making last minute frantic efforts to sort out a total mess of sails, sheets, grab-bags, (thought the crew had prepared the boat?) although we meant to have an in-depth strategy session about tactics and tidal flows! Cast off the lines with the outboard idling and what happens? It keeps bloody cutting out. And with a southerly blowing us into the dock, sailing out is near impossible (for this team anyway). A call to Pete, the sailing instructor, finds us being towed out, during which Bob uproots the pulpit from its bolts trying to sort out some gear. Don't quite know how he managed to rip the thing from its roots, but at least he did a really proper job of it.
Sailing upwind on jib alone, we finally get the main up and turn downwind to get behind the start line. But we are late - very late. The fleet beats past us with fingers raised and after a two minute run we do a quick U-turn behind the start transit and set out to catch them.
Bob's working hard, flat on the deck lashing down the pulpit in between ducking under the headsail during tacks, (fair justice as he broke the bloody thing anyway) while we claw our way up to the first mark. By the time we reach West Pole and round it to Starboard for a short reach to Pump House Port mark, we are third. Rounding Pump House in second place we harden up and stand on instead of tacking immediately. This proves a good move giving us a perfect layline and leaving us 500 metres or so ahead at Shoal Spar, the top mark, although just working out where the bloody stick actually is proves difficult.
Hamish starts throwing up. This is turning out to be a really swell [sic] day.
We round to Starboard again and enjoy a fast beam reach to Earth Station Buoy. Hamish throws up again on the windward side, head below the rail this time. Rounding again to Starboard we set the Bitch (asymmetrical spinnaker). But the wind is dying, blowing only about 10 knots. A couple of gybes later we are down to Pump House Port again, round up and set off back up to Shoal Spar. Hamish throws up yet again - great job. Despite this we are gaining on the fleet in massive strides, pointing high and trying to maintain good boat speed and forget Hamish in the choppy swell against tide. Adjusting rig continuously we reach Shoal Spar a country mile ahead and once again set the Bitch for the final run. The wind is slightly lower. It's dying before swinging to a Northerly, which doesn't give us much time to make the finish. More adjustments, concentration... Keeping pressure on the sail we gybe our way down the course to the finish and at about 100 metres off the wind really dies. Hamish stops throwing up. We inch our way past the finish transit to a time of 13:19:45 thinking that just maybe we've had a good race, even with our ultra-appalling handicap.
The engine finally decides to work, so we head back without having to grovel for a tow. Back on dock it is stifling hot so we are soaked and dizzy clearing the boat. We head in to the cool of the clubhouse, where, after a couple of hours of liquid intake we find that we've come first on both PYR and PER by over an hour to the nearest boat, which is the only other to finish. The others, losing the wind back at Shoal Spar, declare DNF and motor back. Much banter ensues, especially with regard to our new graphics. (It's a jackal, not a dog, guys) Feeling pretty good we continue to replace lost liquid as fast as humanly possible.
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