My sailing history part 2: Focused on the buoys

February 27th, 2009

So I could now sail a boat and take part in races and not come last every time. The problem was that it was still quite scary, particularly the race starts.

At Redhouse Yacht Club, the start lines were a choice of three white poles on the opposite bank of the river. Depending on which line the powers-that-be decided to use, you had to line the pole of choice up with the flag pole of the clubhouse.

You’d get various signals to count you down from 10 minutes to the start. If the wind was howling, you could zig zag back and forth across the narrow river about a bazillion times before the starting gun went off. If it wasn’t, you could end up miles from the start line pointing the wrong direction with your father yelling obscenities at you from the bank.

The trick to a good start is to time it perfectly so that you hit the line at speed as the gun goes. This is tricky. It requires lots of spilling of wind out of the sail. It requires being on the right tack so that you don’t get forced to tack out of the way. It’s all very stressful with lots of boats all buzzing around the line like a swarm of angry bees.

I invariably got it wrong and was either too early and had to go back over the line and start again, or too far back.

But there was one occasion when things changed. It was early into my new high-flying career in the A fleet, still the only girl and therefore a bit of a novelty to all the boys who felt it was their duty to make me feel awkward. On this day there was the usual teasing from the boys. I’d like to say something snapped in me, with the red mist descending, me proving to them all that I was just as good as they were.

That’s not what happened. It was sheer luck. Absolute fluke that I happened to start a race ahead of everyone else. I was stunned by this small victory - and even more put off by all the shouts of abuse coming from behind me - but worst of all, I had no-one to follow. I had no idea what to do, where to go, who to copy.

I manage to hold my lead until the first bend in the river, before the boys started passing me. It was worse than always being at the back. I felt so embarrassed. I could have happily drowned right then. I was just approaching that age where the tiniest thing caused maximum embarrassment, so to be passed by everyone in the fleet was more humiliating than walking onto the stage to collect an Oscar with your dress stuck in your knickers.

But when I got back to shore, those boastful boys all stopped by my boat as I derigged and washed it, and said: ‘Great start.’ I felt as though I’d broken some invisible barrier and had made it. From there on in, I got better.

Tags: boys, sailing, starts

Entry Filed under: Sailing history, Uncategorized