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This is the News Archive for 2003.
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27 Dec 03
24 Dec 03
22 Dec 03
10 Dec 03 Gareth Owen shared lots of good tips on getting to (and staying at) the front of a competitive fleet. James Douglas, Pete Spedding and Will Thompson all had a lot of useful things to add. The use of video shot on the Dee from a rib was an excellent way to highlight techniques and prompt discussion - Debbie McLean's gybing technique impressed us all. The next workshop will be on Tuesday, 13 Jan 04 - so please come along. If there's something you want the workshop to cover then let Pete Spedding know.
08 Dec 03
04 Dec 03 There'll be something for everyone: from novice to experienced; from cruiser to racer, from Oppie sailor to fast cat; from teetotaller to alkie. (Yes, the bar's open!) A panel of the club's top sailors will be on hand to offer tips, answer questions and discuss ways to improve your sailing. They're also intending to show videos of club sailing and training on the Dee and the Marine Lake. During the series the range of subjects will include:
03 Dec 03
This old year is drawing to a close and a new year is marching inexorably towards us. Racing will take a sabbatical for two months, but there will be plenty of activity at the club so sign up for some work-parties and support your Captain. From time to time you may see a public house or emporium of retail desirables with the banner 'Under New Management' emblazoned in two-foot high red lettering. You may wonder that maybe the old management were inept and ran the old business into the ground. Or you may prefer to believe that the previous incumbents were forced to leave under cover of darkness leaving a morass of ruinous policies and financial maladies. This marketing ploy appeals to our British optimism and suggests that things were bad and can only get better. DSC has successfully navigated 2003 without the benefit of a Rear Commodore (Social) this is due to the hard work, dedication and tenacity of Club members, who addition to running busy lives, homes, families and businesses, have given there time and effort week after week. Beryl Roberts and her unfeasible large and scrumptious biscuits, Sue Morruzzi, Jayne Oliver, Helen Latham to name but a few. Working as a team they have piloted the galley through National events and weekend club racing. So to say that DSC social matters in 2004 will be 'Under New Management' would be misleading in the afore-mentioned context. On behalf of DSC I would like to say a big thank you! to our unsung heroes. Simon and Claire, new members to the club this year, have volunteered to take on the role of Rear Commodores (Social) with vacant possession. Hurrah! And Bravo! I use the term Commodores because it is right and proper in this new millennium that Simon and Claire, although an 'Item', will hold equal status in the role. In the November committee meeting Simon did say that he knew he was taking on a thankless task. I would like to ask DSC members to make sure that we don't take our new RC (S) for granted. Finally, the West Cheshire Sailing Club fund-raising bash held in the Wallasey Conservative Club on 28 Nov was well attended with over 165 revellers. This included contingents from kindred clubs. The food, although billed as a buffet was of high quality with a wide choice from coq au vin and chilli to cold cuts of prime beef or salmon with a range of salads artistically garnished and delicately flavoured. WCSC have a chef as a member and is available for outside catering. There was a multi-prize raffle and 'sit down bingo' with a cash prize of £250. The band were lively and loud and the disco good fun. There was a roving artist penning caricatures during the evening and a roaming magician performing at the tables. In one of the tricks performed on the table next to us he gently placed a small foam rabbit into the cleavage of a suitable lady, he then asked her to place her hand over her bosom; to prevent outside tampering? He then made two more foam rabbits disappear into thin air before our very eyes. He then asked her to extricate the bunny from its warm and cosy hiding place, and guess what?… There were three!… foam rabbits that is. I did take it upon myself to surreptitiously check on cleavages for the rest of the evening purely in the interest of science. It was a thoroughly enjoyable do. Well-planned and well-executed. One of the raffle prizes, a pair of green lens binoculars were re-presented and auctioned at the end raising another £45 despite my wife's best efforts to out-bid the winner with Adrian Mould's money. The final total is yet to be announced. The senseless vandalism that precipitated this fund-raising has clearly failed to break the spirit of WCSC and has brought the best out in its members. Mark Emptage
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23 Nov 03
22 Dec 03
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31 Oct 03
12 Oct 03
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30 Sep 03 Dee Sailing Club hosted the fourth and final round of the North Wales Catamaran Circuit over the weekend of 27th and 28th September. Much was at stake with the overall championship still up for grabs and the Youth and F18 prizes to be decided. The 28 entries were greeted with an uncharacteristically calm estuary on the Saturday morning and it looked like racing might not take place at all. Slowly, a light southerly set in and the OOD set a windward-leeward course to get things started. With a varied fleet ranging from Hurricane Sports and F18s to Dart 16s, the average lap system was employed. First home on the water and winning on handicap was the Nacra F18 of Alasdair Davidson and Jonathan Jenkins from the home club with Gareth Owen and Joanna Pierce-Jones second in a Dart 18. With the wind holding steady, a long distance course was set for the second race taking the boats out to the mouth of the estuary and back via the Hilbre Islands. The two Nacra F18s and the Hurricane Sport made quick work of the downwind leg reaching the first mark under spinnakers in less than 30 minutes, followed by a two-sail reach across to the islands. Unfortunately, the wind then decided to die leaving all the boats becalmed for about an hour. The wind then swung round and filled in from the north but it was too late for everyone as the time limit expired. After the traditional Dee SC Saturday evening party, complete with a lively soul band, the competitors were again greeted with still conditions on the Sunday morning. The OOD opted for a 30 minute delay before the boats were called onto the water for the first of three races. A triangle course was set for the first and the winner on handicap was Liz Howell and Chris Cherry in a Hurricane 5.9 from Tresaith with Gareth Owen second again. For the last two races the wind increased to F3-4 giving the fleet the best racing of the weekend. After a general recall the black flag was in place for both races. The first of the two races saw a repeat of Saturday with the F18 first followed by the Dart 18 on handicap. Both the event result and the series result came down to the last race. A less than orderly start saw three cats DSQ. With the tide on its way out the OOD opted to run two laps only with the Nacra F18 again coming home first on handicap and second place this time taken by 11 year old Tom Green in a Dart 16 Spi crewed by his father Neil. With one discard the Nacra F18 of Davidson & Jenkins won with three firsts followed by the Dart 18 of Owen & Pierce-Jones with three seconds.
The Dee event was always going crucial to the outcome of the 2003 North Wales Cat Circuit. Steve Leonard from Tresaith Mariners Club, sailing a Hurricane 5.9, had been leading the series after three rounds with results of 3, 2, & 2. Realistically, only Alasdair & Jonathan in the F18 could overtake him. Having missed Bala and counting a 1 & 3 from the previous two events, they had to finish in the top three at Dee and ahead of the Hurricane. Confident that they could beat the Hurricane on the water, the key to retaining the North Wales Cats trophy possibly lay in the performance of the Dee Darts. After scoring a 10th in the light winds race on Sunday morning things were not looking promising. The distinct possibility of only getting a total of 3 races in meant the 10th would have to count and push the Nacra boys out of the top 3. Fortunately the wind arrived just in the nick of time and with 4 races completed they could discard the 10th. After a closely fought series, Alasdair retained the trophy, crewed by Jonathan at Pwllheli and Dee and by Brigid at Beaumaris. It must be noted that Brigid gave up the crewing slot at Dee to assist the Race team when it was looking like Peter might be out there on his own!! Full results for the NW Cats Circuit will be posted on www.nwcats.co.uk.
19 Sep 03 Work-party 18 Sep 03 The light, gentle breezes were perfect conditions for the younger sailors. 75 boats took part and 9 out of 10 races were held. It was a fabulous sight to see the array of spinnakers and the sun gleaming on all the red sails in the bay. James and Cameron came a creditable 12th position and Cameron became wonderfully adept at flying his spinnaker at every opportunity. Evidence of this can be seen by visiting Turtle's web site www.turtlephotography.co.uk. Congratulations Cameron and James! Jonathan and Andrew were 54th and were also awarded the trophy for the youngest helm and crew, both being only 12 years old. Well done, boys. In addition to sailing other events included quiz night, sandcastle competition, swimming races, karaoke night and a beach barbecue, where the record must have been set for the most disposable BBQs in the smallest area! Huge thanks must go to Alasdair for providing such fabulous entertainment for the junior wannabe trapeze artists on his Inter 17. All in all, Abersoch Mirror week was fantastic and if you are already wondering what holiday to book for 2004, make 1 week in Abersoch a priority and beg or borrow a Mirror if you don't already have one. There is no upper or lower age limit and you will have a great time. We did! David Harris 15 Sep 03 Prior to attending I had to do a first aid course which was completed on a Saturday in March at Hoylake Sailing School. It was good fun but not much had changed since I first did one a long, long time ago. Sarah was happy for me to go as she was to have a long weekend in Brussels with her friends a week or so before I went. The week leading up to the course I was planning to do a lot of revision, but as usual work came first and far too much of it. So much for good intentions. Friday the 11th July duly arrived and I packed my bags with wellies, oilies, lots of warm clothes and a few tee shirts and a couple pairs of shorts. Well it was bound to be cold and wet. After saying my goodbyes to the family I set off for Conwy Marina. I was the first to arrive but soon the team was assembled. Neil Shay was to be our instructor for the course part of the week. The crew comprised of Dave Massey, Bill Hughes, David Manson better known as Trash and myself. Our yacht was to be a Victoria 34 named Victoria Conwy 1, a long-keeled, heavy displacement boat. After loading the boat with provisions, our gear and sorting out who was having which bunk we had a quick chat about the safety equipment on board. Then it was off to the pub at the top of the marina. A good opportunity to get to know the boys as well as a few beers. I was sleeping in the saloon with Trash and Dave, Neil had the skipper's berth and Bill had the fore cabin and all the bags. It took a while to get to sleep that night as Dave, Neil and trash all snored heavily. Of course they denied this in the morning, but was it loud especially when all three were at it. After breakfast and a quick briefing, it was out into the harbour to try our hand at manoeuvring under power; picking up moorings and going alongside. There is quite a rip at the mouth of the Conwy River and with the moorings quite close together it took a lot of concentration. We all completed this with good instruction from Neil without hitting anything. I was on cooking and cleaning duty the first day, so while the others played I knocked up lunch. We had it on the way out of the harbour and up to the fairway buoy. We put up the main and No. 1 genoa, but there was not much wind so we motor-sailed past Puffin Island towards Moelfre. The weather was fantastic; everyone was in shorts, enjoying the sunshine, lots of knobbly knees. You don't get it much better than this, wonderful scenery and warm southerly breeze. Our next task was to put the boat over a tidal diamond on the chart without using GPS, i.e. the old fashioned way. Good practice taking running bearings and plotting our position on the chart. We then set off for the Menai Straits through Puffin Sound.
We made our way down to the Gazelle Hotel and picked up a mooring whilst we had our evening meal. The plan was to go though the Swellies at slack water and then go into the lock at Porth Dinorwic for the night. The sun was just setting as we passed through the Swellies, the water was like glass reflecting the bridges which span the Straights between North Wales and Anglesey. After tying up it was once again off to the hotel just above the lock for a few beers. I was quite shattered after all the cooking and washing so I went off to my bunk early. The next day we practiced manoeuvring in the close confines of the lock,
before setting off to Llandwyn Island. We quickly went into Caernarfon
dock for a quick practice of coming alongside. By the time we had reached
Aber Menai Point we had missed the window for passing over the Caernarfon
Bar, so we turned around to head back to Menai Bridge. With the wind behind
us we set up the spinnaker pole on the No. 1 genoa and put a preventer
on the boom. Yet another glorious day all in just shorts and tee shirts
soaking up the sun, lunch was with the backdrop of Snowdon glistening
in the foreground. The wind slowly died and we had to put the motor on
again to make headway against the ebbing tide. As we passed Plas Newydd, the wind had completely dropped and we took the sails down. I was back on my old stomping ground. The water was perfect for barefoot skiing. My mind wandered back to when I had a powerboat and used to ski on this part of the Straights, usually this sort of time in the early evening or first thing in the morning when no-one else was around. The water would be flat calm and so peaceful. By the time we had reached the Swellies we had just missed slack water, which is two hours before low water. Neil decided that it was still safe to pass through so we went for it. Just before we went under the Britannia Bridge a large dive boat passed us at high speed throwing up a huge wash, we all had to grab on as the yacht was thrown about. Neil gave a hand signal to the dive boats skipper telling him what we all thought about him. The passage was an eye-opener to the rest of the crew (I had done this passage many times before), to see the Swellies Rock and the Platters uncovered. We tied up at the pier at Menai Bridge for the evening and after a good meal it was off to one of my favourite pubs, the Liverpool Arms. The beer was still as good as it used to be. As a crew we were starting to form a bond, which was to be needed if we were all to pass the exam at the end of the week. Dave owned a canal boat building firm in Northwich and had done a few legs of Chay Blyth's Global Challenge; even going round Cape Horn. He had a Colvic Watson motor sailer, which was in his yard and also shares in boats raced at Royal Mersey Yacht Club; a Milne and a Squibb. He also has a share in a boat in Palma. Bill was a bosun on a P&O Ferry crossing the Channel; he was about to buy a share in a Bavaria 38 based out in Croatia. Years before he had been a yacht delivery skipper. Trash owned a cabinet making business in London and had another home in North Wales. He owned a Nobby called Ellidi which was having major work done on her in Porth Penrhyn in Bangor. I felt I was the weak link in the chain with not having as much experience as the others. I found out that the others were doing their Yachtmaster's as we talked in the pub, which made me feel better. The next morning I headed up the walkway to the toilet, on my way down I saw the dive boat that had sped past us the previous evening. Next the skipper of the dive boat walked past me with a woman, he was furious, cursing to this woman. I got back onboard and found out the he had been over to remonstrate with Neil about his hand gesture, Neil had given him short shrift and I had missed all the fun. We went into Porth Penrhyn; yet more practice coming alongside. I did not do a very good job of it, but we got there in the end. We went ashore to look at Ellidi, she was having a new larger transom and longer bow sprit fitted. She is a beautiful boat, Trash was re-doing the cabin. The engine was on the starboard side with the propeller also on the starboard side. Turning to port was impossible, so any close-quarter manoeuvring would have to be well thought out. We headed back out and hoisted the sails and headed up to Beaumaris, time to practice anchoring. Neil wanted us to anchor on the chart's 2m line, opposite the pier in Beaumaris pool. Dave who was helming and had done the tidal calculations got it spot on. After lunch we headed for Puffin Island through the sound and on to Amlwch on the North of Anglesey. It is a small drying harbour with pens for Liverpool pilot boats and the boats that used to maintain the old oil pumping buoy off Point Lynas. We tied up to an old fishing boat which stank and was in such poor condition I would not have ventured out to sea in it. A couple of other yachts were in the pens; one from Liverpool the other from Dublin. We all had a shower in the pub which was wonderful - well worth the £1.50. The next morning we set off again, the wind was about a 4 to 5 with big rolling seas. Several fishing boats were out with a few green faces on the fee-paying costumers. At Point Lynas the seas were very confused and we took a couple of soakings - at least we were getting use out of our oilies. Once back round Lynas the sea calmed and we hoisted the sails. A broad reach down to Puffin. In the Straights, Neil felt unwell and went down below. I was glad I had not done the food yesterday or today. The wind dropped to nothing so we motored to Beaumaris. I had a go at hitting the 2m mark, but we didn't drop the hook as it had been a real struggle to get the chain back into the locker. We motored on and picked up a mooring in the harbour. The sun was shining again as we sat and had our coffee. We asked each other questions about buoys, lights, sounds, rules of the road and general navigation. We even got a few bits of rope and practiced our knots. Neil, who was awake, was very impressed with our revision. I had purchased a pocket skipper's guide book prior to the course and any quite moments I had my head buried in it. We went back to Menai Bridge for the night and met one of Neil's old instructors from his sailing school. We had a real good laugh that night with him telling us stories from when he worked with Neil. Back onboard with everyone asleep except Trash and myself, he told me
a story of his first sailing trip. He had bought an 18 foot wooden boat
and had sailed from Chiswick to Southend on the Thames. On his return
he had just passed the Thames Barrier when a carrier bag fouled the propeller
of his Seagull outboard. As he leant over to clear the bag, the ebbing
tide carried him onto the Barrier; a voice shouted "Are you alright?" The following day we went up into the pool opposite Beaumaris and practiced picking up moorings under sail. Several Hilbres and Stars had arrived the previous evening for the Straights Regatta. Yet again, fantastic weather, the Gods were smiling on us. The wind picked up and we were having a great sail, when all of a sudden there was this loud bang and the No. 2 genoa was in shreds. Neil was not too bothered as it was an old sail. Trash had been helming. We headed off for Conwy going through Penmaenmawr Swatch. The course was coming to a close and the next two days would be the exam. I think we all felt a bit apprehensive. That night we had a meal in the pub and all had an early night. Dave knew the examiner Mike Linski from the Royal Mersey, all he said was that he did not smile much. We decided that it was to be a challenge to make him laugh. We all got up early the next morning, rather nervous about the impending exam. We took on some more stores and a new No. 2 genoa. Mike arrived about 10 am, Dave, said hello but was ignored. We were in for a hard time. Both Dave and Billy wanted to go first, so a coin was tossed and Dave won, or so he thought. The plan was to sail out the marina and pick up a mooring in the harbour before heading off to the Straights, back through the swatch. The skies were grey, the wind was increasing and it started to rain. Once out of the harbour Mike called us down one at a time to go through our passage plans we had prepared the night before. Bill went first, then it was my turn. I had lost my voice the day before so it was hard going, grunting through my plan to sail to Wicklow in Ireland. Next, questions about buoys, lights, rules of the road and weather; just as well I had been revising. Trash was next up, Dave was to be done while I did my skippering. We were still motoring when Mike asked if we should put the sails up. Dave was not happy about this and said no as we were going through the Swatch. Once in the Straights the sails went up and Mike threw a buoy overboard to do a man overboard exercise. We had practiced this quite often and we took it in our stride, joking about Doris being all cold and who was going to warm her up. I think Mike thought we were all mad. Although I think Dave had wished he hadn't gone first. It turned out that Mike had been a lecturer at Riversdale College, teaching navigation to the deck cadets when I had been there as an engineer cadet. We had a good old chat, or as best I could manage with my voice, about the place. My turn was next. I was asked to go into Porth Penrhyn and get out before there was no water. I checked the chart and did the tidal calculations, we had a draught of 1.4m. We had 2m on entering but Mike wanted me to go further up the dock. The depth gauge kept falling. Thankfully he didn't notice when the gauge hit 1.4m, a quick turn about and out to deep water. As he knew I raced at Dee he had me going the channel buoys like racing marks. A man overboard exercise followed by picking up a mooring under sail and I was done. We stopped for a coffee, while Mike grilled Dave. Bill was up next and coped pretty well, then another bang! Trash helming again, another blow out of the new No. 2 genoa, we just all laughed as we got it sorted. It was even older than the first one we trashed. We tied up alongside the jetty in Menai Bridge for the night at about 8 pm. Mike, as he lived on the Island went home for a hot bath. We went to the Liverpool Arms for some food, unfortunately we were too late. So a few pints and a packet of crisps. Dave was not a happy bunny as being first up was the hardest. He called Mike the Grim Reaper as we had not yet made him laugh. Once back onboard Trash did a marvellous job with cheese on toast, we were starving. A good night's rest and a slow start to the day waiting for Mike to come. Once onboard we were off; Trash's turn. We headed for Puffin. The sun was out again with a nice breeze on our tail. We set up the spinnaker pole and preventer only for Mike to call a man overboard exercise; it had been far too relaxed. We forgot to take the pole down, which stopped us tacking back up to the man overboard. We soon realised our mistake and got it stowed. Doris was fine, even Mike smiled when Dave offered to give her the kiss of life. Round the back of Puffin and to another tidal diamond on the chart. I
was helming and waiting for instructions from Trash about where to go
as we sailed past it. Turn round and this time bang on. We sailed back
through the channel and into the harbour, where Trash had to pick up a
mooring under sail, no problem. Then motor back into the marina. Billy was first, a pass. Then Trash; again a pass. Neil had said it was about a 75% pass rate, so I was not looking forward to my trip down below with the Grim Reaper. Yeeees! I passed and Mike said once I have got the sea time in I'll have no problems with doing my Yachtmaster's. Dave's turn next and again he passed with flying colours. Mike had been a good examiner, very fair giving us a second chance if we messed up and not at all like the Grim Reaper, even Dave thought highly of him. He had just had his examiner's hat on. Neil came down to congratulate us. It was time to pack up and clean the boat. Before we all headed our separate ways we had a final drink in the pub, and joked about Neil's sails. It had been a tiring week but a very enjoyable one. I even managed to pass my Coastal Skipper's, all thanks to Neil. As I drove home I thought what for next year. Trash has invited me to sail on Ellidi which would be great fun. I got a wonderful welcome when I got home from the children and Sarah, it was nice to be back. Sarah thought the idea of a share in a boat was wonderful, so the following weekend we went back to Conwy to a have look at it. So here's hoping that the following year we will proud part-owner's of a new Bavaria 36. Mike Hilton
10 Sep 03 Pwllheli Sailing Club Over the August Bank Holiday weekend, 97 catamarans gathered at Pwllheli SC for the combined Formula 20, Formula 18, Spitfire, Hobie 16, Hobie Dragoon, and Nacra/Prindle National Championships. The six classes were split over two courses just a short sail from the beach. The Formula 18 fleet with 36 cats was by far the largest and included a number of professional sailors including pre-event favourite Gavin Colby, the current Hobie 16 World Champion and Formula 18 Worlds runner-up. After light winds on Saturday and no wind on Sunday, we were treated to a good force 4/5 on both the Monday and Tuesday allowing the Race Officer to run seven windward/leeward races. The final outcome saw Gavin Colby live up to his billing by just a point from Matt Eeles. The Dee teams of Alasdair & Brigid and Jon & Piers finished 20th and 33rd respectively. The Nacra/Prindle fleet comprised mainly of Nacra 6.0s with a couple of Nacra 5.5s and Prindle 18-2s. Sailing on a separate course from the F18s, Don Findlay squeezed five races in on the windy Monday to add to the one from Saturday. Long time Nacra 6.0 sailor Ian Kirk from Bala CC sailed consistently well to win with four firsts and 2 seconds but our very own Mark Emptage, crewed by Jenny Allen, put in an excellent performance in their first Nationals to take second place. Pete and Christopher Gregory came in fourth to make it a successful event for the Dee SC Nacras. Despite the mixed conditions, this was a good event with excellent organisation by Don Findlay and Pwllheli SC. F18
Results Full results from the other classes can be found on www.catamaran.co.uk under the News section. Alasdair Davidson
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09 Jul 03 Our Juniors showed tremendous team spirit, showed off their capsize skills
at the beginning of the day (no other team demonstrated such party tricks),
tried their hand at crab fishing, topped up their tan and enjoyed the
barbecue when not sailing. Huge thanks go to West Cheshire for organising it and Mike Jones and his team for their hospitality. Julie Harris
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28 Jun 03 Bill Broughall, Skipper Bill took delivery of his new boat in La Rochelle, fitted her out with electronic gizmos and set sail across the Bay of Biscay with one crew in mid-April 2003. He would probably like to give, personally, a detailed account of his experiences between then and arriving in Las Palmas early a.m. on the 26th April. Suffice to say, it was a very eventful trip, as he was stormbound for 72hrs off Spain/Portugal in force 10-11 winds and huge seas and later, en route to the Canaries, the boat collided in the dark with a large fishing float. It ripped the anchor off the bows and smashed it into the side of the hull above the waterline. Repairs to the hull were carried out in Madeira. Following this, he sailed solo to Las Palmas, where Tim Rooney and I flew out to join him for the big trip. We all hoped his luck had changed and sure enough, it did!
During the middle watch on May 6th. when we were at N22.08 W 31.00, there was a violent wind shift to the SE , the wind got up to about force 6 and the boat gybed suddenly. All (two)hands arrived on deck to join the one on watch, who was wrestling with the wheel, and in about 30 minutes, the main had two reefs and the genoa suitably restrained; so on reduced sail and now on a port reach, we arrived where we wanted to be, or thereabouts, at midday on 7th May, at N19.46 W33.29., having sailed 1180nm in just over 7.5 days.
Our plots at noon for the rest of the voyage are as follows:
General comments about what we saw and did during the trip
Bill, as usual, proved to be unflappable and always made the correct decisions at the right time. He also baked some very nice loaves, which were eaten rapidly. As the voyage progressed, sleep became a matter for each individual to catch up on, whenever possible and we all arrived in St Maarten in pretty good shape, ready for the many rum punches to come.
The main event of the day onboard, was happy hour, when we each had a
can of beer at 1800hrs. We kept the clock at Canaries time until after
mid-Atlantic, but by then, the sun was not rising until 0900 and the evenings
were drawing out somewhat, so we altered the clock by two hours and then
to local time fairly near our destination..
About only five or six ships appeared, mostly during the first five days
and then nothing until we got nearer to the Caribbean, when they caused
some excitement in the dark, rain and force 7 winds (not my watch!) Another interesting bird for you twitchers, was a great skua, which looks
like a little like a buzzard. (You will see it in your European bird book.)
Those of you who have sailed the Trade Winds will know how fantastic it is to sail, day after day in consistent 15kt winds (if you are lucky). The line squalls (if that is what they are), sometimes arrive with heavy rain and 20+ kts of wind and push you north for many hours at a time, but then normal service is resumed! I have sailed W to E from Bermuda to the Azores some years ago (1800 nm) but we all agreed this was a very exciting journey to have made and will be remembered for many years, for the good company and sailing. Tim has been to see me in the Ribble Valley (he has a lady friend here), so we are still in touch. It is strange, the connection, as I had never met him before, until the day we arrived in Las Palmas, to start our great adventure.
He wrote:
I think he will be in the USA now, but does not seem to be missing us a bit John Toms
08 Jun03 Matt Pollock took these shots of the clubhouse while he was briefly flying the right way up.
02 Jun 03
01 Jun 03
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26 May 03 Michael Moruzzi was showing all the signs of growing confidence following lots of sailing he's been doing in Dart 16s and various other larger craft, but it was Cameron Douglas who set his mind to winning the day's races. And he did too, in fine style by quite a margin from Michael and Richard Peck. Sophie and Aden decided the conditions were a little too brisk at this stage of their learning curve so retired to quieter waters. The finishing order was repeated in the second race. Bank Holiday Monday saw the main fleet out at Thurstaston for an early
start
23 May 03 After several weeks of hard work by both Tony Marston, organising both crews and courses, and David Edmundson helping to organise the social event, the LBSA weekend got off to a slow start on the Saturday in a light south-westerly breeze. Wallis Cup Wild Oats and Dilemma were first over the line at the start, closely followed by Artful Dodger, the only boat to fly a spinnaker. As we eased the sheets at Hilbre Island, the rest of the fleet got the spinnakers up and we headed off to HE3. By this stage Artful Dodger had overtaken Dilemma to take second place, and Slipstream was bringing up the rear. After the run to HE3, we then had a beat to HE1. During this leg the wind fell to under 5 knots and went round to the north-west, which set the pattern for the rest of the day. By HE1, Wild Oats lead from Slipstream, who had managed to sail through the Deltas soon after rounding HE3, and Helter Skelter had taken over in third place. On the beat to Burbo Towers, Slipstream significantly reduced Wild Oats' lead, and Helter Skelter pulled away from the other Deltas, lead by Dilemma. However on the run back to the finish Slipstream could not make any further gains on Wild Oats and finished over eighteen minutes behind. The Deltas finished another forty minutes back, but in the light winds they had all closed up and finished together. Dilemma took third, closely followed by Rupert Bear and Artful Dodger, with Helter Skelter finishing last after running aground off the Hoyle Bank, trying to luff Rupert Bear. On corrected time the finishing order was Wild Oats, Slipstream, Rupert Bear, Dilemma, Artful Dodger and Helter Skelter. Sunday The format for Sunday was for three short races. For the first race Tony set the start line behind Hilbre, with two laps of a course, taking us to HE4, then to two buoys laid off Hilbre, then to Seldom Seen and then back to the start. Dilemma was first over the line at the start, but headed off to Seldom Seen, sailing the course in reverse order, claiming it had been in that order when he saw the board. Wild Oats lead the rest of the fleet on the intended course, closely followed by Rupert Bear, with Artful Dodger and Deva Delta further behind. Rupert Bear held on to win on corrected time with Wild Oats second, Artful Dodger third and Deva Delta fourth. At the date of writing this result is subject to a protest. After lunch the wind picked up to a South Westerly Force 5/6, and the format changed to Olympic triangles set between Hilbre Island and the Hoyle Bank. It was just before the start of the second race that Wild Oats had a very embarrassing incident, nearly T-boning both Rescue 1 and Dawpool, missing both by inches. The look of horror on both my crew and the committee boat will stay with me for a long time! In the second race Dilemma was first to start again, although was forced to tack by Wild Oats crossing her on starboard. By the end of the first windward leg, Wild Oats held a narrow lead over Dilemma with Rupert Bear in third. We stayed in this order until the reaches in the triangle stage of the race, when Rupert Bear, still carrying full sail, overtook Dilemma. The order stayed the same until the finish, with Rupert Bear winning on handicap from Dilemma, with Artful Dodger in third. The final race was another Olympic triangle, this time Dilemma misjudged the start arriving a minute early, and Wild Oats took an early lead. By the first windward mark Wild Oats led from Artful Dodger. Dilemma and Rupert Bear then overtook Artful Dodger on the triangle section of the course. However on the final tack for the finish line, Artful Dodger tacked early and just overtook Rupert Bear before the finish. The finishing order on corrected time was Dilemma first, Artful Dodger second and Rupert Bear third. The overall result for the day, subject to the protest is, first Rupert
Bear, second Dilemma, third Artful Dodger, fourth Wild Oats and fifth
Deva Delta. Andrew Hiscocks
2003 Pwllheli Raid North Wales Cat Series Round 2 The following is a personal account of what I, and a growing number of sailors, regard as one of the best catamaran races in the country.
The race is both physically and mentally testing and is run on the basis that the crews should be almost self-reliant. The rescue boats that are stationed along the course are there solely to rescue crews who may be in imminent danger. There will no lifting of mast heads to help you right a capsized cat and no tow back home if you decide to retire until the race is over. Brige and I first competed in this race two years ago, not long after acquiring our Inter 18 and it was a baptism of fire. Just surviving the race with winds gusting up to Force 7 was an achievement, but survive we did to finish tenth. Last year in the new Nacra F18, our race was cut short off Abersoch with gear failure, so I was determined to improve on our 2001 position. Alas, Brige was busy with wedding plans this year so Jonathan Jenkins stepped in to crew at short notice. We'd sailed together previously and Jonathan has plenty of experience on F18s so I was confident that we could put up a good performance. Discussing the final arrangements by phone earlier in the week, Jonathan, I think half jokingly, signed off by saying "let's go and win it".
The beat to St. Tudwall's Islands off Abersoch was lumpy and not without problems. Immediately after the start our mast rotator became unshackled and Jonathan spent several minutes tying it all back together. By St. Tud's we'd pulled back to the leading group and were happy with how things were going. Long distance racing certainly doesn't appeal to everyone. Many sailors prefer the short, sharp, round the cans races but there is an added challenge over and above sailing skills that gives long distance events a unique attraction. Soon we were crossing Hell's Mouth and the greyness of the sea, the land, and the sky blurred into each other making navigation somewhat tricky without a compass or GPS. Some cats opted to sail inshore thereby guaranteeing that they'd pass inshore of the one mark positioned halfway across the bay. We stayed further out and found the mark, but being unable to see the next headland, sailed too high and ended up half a mile further out to sea, having to then bear off and hoist our spinni to get back to the islands off Aberdaron. So at the halfway point we'd dropped a couple of places but were still within reach of the leading Inter 20s, Hurricane Sports, and the sole remaining Tornado Sport. The return journey is basically a mirror image of the outward leg. As we entered the gloom of Hell's Mouth, the leading boats again opted to sail inshore. Having 'found' the mark previously we were fairly confident we could again, so stuck to our course followed by two Hurricanes. Sure enough, we found the mark again and by sailing a shorter and more direct route across the bay we'd pulled back to the leading group as we closed on the opposite headland. By this stage, seven cats were now within a few minutes of each other and being an 18ft cat amongst the 20fts we knew we stood a good chance of beating all of them on handicap. What we had no control over was the 'slower' boats further back.
As we rounded the Bell Buoy off Abersoch we all gybed inshore and hoisted spinnis. Apart from our short leg off Aberdaron to get us back on course this was to be the only true downwind leg of the race. Strictly the course should have suited the two-sail cats but in long distance racing there is always more to it than that. Jonathan, having done this race on four previous occasions, suggested we didn't follow the three leaders as far inshore but gybe back and make for the outer distance mark. This paid as we overhauled both Inter 20s to cross the line third behind the Tornado Sport which took line honours and one of the Hurricane Sports. We knew then that we'd beaten them on handicap but still had to wait for all the boats to finish and allow everyone's times to be calculated. It had been a great sail and a good race. Despite the rain and the lack of visibility, the wind had been perfect. Most boats completed the course and no major incidents were reported. We'd packed the boat up, showered, changed, and downed the first pint before Don posted the results on the board. So, how did we do? Well, we won as Jonathan had suggested on the phone those few days earlier. It was a great feeling and quite different from winning a Sunday race at the Club.
Out of the twenty three entries, Seven were from Dee SC. I would recommend it to everyone and hopefully more members will be there next year. We're definitely overdue a sunny day so maybe the race in 2004 will give us that and the Force 4 to 5 to go with it. Perfect. Alasdair Davidson Yachts
& Yachting Race report
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26 Apr 03
12 Apr 03
06 Apr 03
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25 Mar 03
18 Mar 03 Congratulations are in order for Ian McLean on the arrival of his new Dart 18. It was Sunday morning, newly assembled on the lawn in front of the club, the perfect porcelain of virgin hulls reflecting the cool green of March grass, the pristine anodised grey of the beams and mast, the young fresh tautness of a new trampoline. The sheets and lines exuding newness unfolded with love and care. Untarnished rigging casting dazzling rays of spring sunshine. This is the new page in the exercise book of Ian’s sailing hopes and dreams, no blots, no errors just pure exciting unsullied potential for brilliance. There was no launching ceremony. No bottle of Moet & Chandon to crack across the bows, not even a Veuve du Vernay. She was not baptised by a cheap and cheerful supermarket sparkling white, not even a token bottle of Babycham to whet this new baby's head. How then was this moment heralded? It was by the cocked leg of a club member's border collie: welcomed to the Dee with sheepdog urine. An omen of good fortune I’ll warrant. I would like to wish Ian the best of luck with his new craft. Mark Emptage 17 Mar 03 For those who have braved the Winter Series and have ventured out in sub-zero temperatures, strong winds and black skies, Sunday was as a balmy summer's day. For those who had occasionally sailed if the conditions were unseasonably mild during our winter months, then Sunday was more of a pleasant spring day with a frosty start and bracing wind. For the couch potatoes, the fair weather sailors, those that unscrupulously cite their devotion to their partners or pressure of domestic obligations as cause for land-lubbing, the duration of what has proved to be some excellent competition, then Sunday was cold, water just above freezing, with a biting, searching and icy wind from the South West. It's relative, not like your maiden aunt or a favourite nephew; conditions I mean. Remember we are British and our weather conditions have served to demoralise and thwart invaders to our isles for centuries passed. The North West of England a posting, I am sure, that would have been second only to Siberia. 6 Dart 18s, 4 Dart 16s, an International Canoe and 'Animal' on the water. Alasdair and Brigid conducting the final 3 movements concluding the symphony known as Toccata and Warm up in Dee Major. The Dart 18s were battling in pairs with Will triumphant in the first and James, fresh from the couch, nailing races 2 and 3. (Rumour control; I can confirm as an eye-witness that Will and Amy did in fact capsize last week so another first for Will there then.) Paul R and Simon M were jousting closely with 2 third places for Paul and 1 third to Simon M. Graeme, who is still shamelessly claiming novice status despite successfully completing his apprenticeship and turning in credible results on the water, sailed in with 3 fifth places. Ian C chose a back seat stance with young Nick snatched from the junior fleet as crew. Ian is biding his time, building his confidence and will prove to be a formidable helm in the coming seasons, if he ever manages to cross the line within 3 minutes of the actual start, that is. The 16s, lead by Steve R storming home to 3 firsts, ploughing the road
for the Lucking Brothers on 'Wild Thing' to finish second in all 3 races.
Iain Blair wrestling his canoe around the first 2 courses making it look
too easy. The Animal buzzed, hummed and sang her way around in a song
of enchantment to the other fast cats still in hibernation. Wise people learn things slowly, taking time to establish the psycho
motive reactions to new tasks or actions, building up speed in proportion
to confidence and ability. One exception may be learning the golf swing
(although why anyone would want to escapes me). You cannot learn to swing
a wood slowly; you have to swing it fast then work on your accuracy and
technique. So applying the golf swing principle to sailing the Animal
I flew into each manoeuvre with no accuracy or technique, shouting at
'ikle bro in what must have sounded like Greek: Back at the club and bacon or sausage in a bun. I noticed some polishing going on to a handicap cat and I have heard rumours of fettling afoot. Someone has bought a spinney; being new to the handicap fleet and the only one out on the warm up series I have got a taste for being first. I am not throwing the gauntlet down as such but I am looking forward to some competition and I would suggest it might take a bit more than some go faster shine or a gaudy downwind rag to kick the Animal. Mark Emptage
10 Mar 03 For those of you without the time to contend with my vernacular meanderings I will tell the expedited version first. One Saturday two friends went out for a sail, got into difficulties, inconvenienced loads of people, got a well-deserved fright and were lucky to get off so lightly. The End The truth is that it could so easily have been the end for either or both of us. It is not that to die prematurely is so terrifying, it is what you may have to live through just prior to that event that scares me. The culprit in this case was our own complacency. Normally we would only go out with other boats, usually on a Sunday with rescue cover and we would be on a boat that we both knew well. Factors easily evaluated correctly with the benefit of hindsight. The Dee Estuary has been our playground for 4 years. In that time we have taken our share of risk and danger sensibly…ish. I believe that in human nature there is a strong desire to control, I also believe that control is illusionary. We are quickly lulled into the comfort zone; a place we all instinctively strive to inhabit. Consequently to follow that theory: the more control, the bigger the illusion, and the more comfortable we become. We disregard the risk of mechanical, systemic or procedural failures, as the new level of control/illusion becomes the normal state. It is a very human trait to delude oneself. No matter how we may rationalise our thoughts and beliefs into things that conveniently suit our own particular tenet; we remain divisive. I would like to think I am adventurous rather than reckless, that I may be misguided rather than stupid and will remain alive for the foreseeable future rather than dead. I take for granted that I can handle 'it', I know what I'm doing, and I've got everything under control? Most of us choose to ignore the speed limits on the roads, some don't strap in for a short journey. Ask yourself this; would you travel down a motorway without your seat belt? I wouldn't, but it is significantly safer on a motorway than on the 'short journey'. A large number of the population smoke despite the knowledge of the damage it can do. Familiarity may well breed contempt, delusion and a dangerous disregard for what is really going on or in our case, may be about to happen. I have to say from the outset that these machinations by virtue of having to think to write are mostly reflective, it is not a tale of heroism on my part or an effort to appear other than I am (don't answer that) so please accept that all facts are tempered with hindsight and coloured with vanity. I have known Simon for many years and count him as a close friend. We don't consciously acknowledge our fundamental thinking differences as in many ways they are complimentary. Simon is a classic thinker, logical and precise; I on the other hand, am far more romantic. I don't mean that in the way of the boy/girl thing, but more in the way of being fanciful, a dreamer. These differences are not absolute or totally exclusive, I guess that we share a great deal of common ground. The point that I am trying to make is that when we experience things our reactions to them may be from a different perspective. The decision was made, a thrilling Saturday sail on the Dee. I had spent some time fettling the Animal. Current status: - a happy boat owner. Andy M was in the club working on his International Canoe. We changed, I had forgotten my hat and fortunately someone had left a fleecy one in the changing rooms. The club has an excellent record for belongings staying put, you can leave a pair of gloves behind, come back 2 weeks later and find them still there. It was cold out so I took the liberty of this loan. I said to Andy on the way out, "if we're not back in 2 hours, just wait longer." There are many times in my life when I have regretted my unfortunate style of wit. I have sometimes offended people and then blamed them for their lack of humour. Andy followed us down to the water and helped with the sails and the wheels. Off we went. It was windy and Animal sports a large sail area. Simon hadn't crewed for a while and I was struggling a bit with the steering and getting out on the wire. Still a blast, took me back to early Dart days and the old team back together. The sea fairly choppy and the wind from the SE, we were late getting out so it must have been close to, if not past, high water. We would usually be on the water an hour or more before high tide. The benefits of Sunday sailing meant I no longer bothered to check the forecast conditions, other people always willing to fill me in on the day. Not really switched on I sailed across the Dee. The conditions steady if a bit windy and the visibility was poor. Failed a tack, tried again then bore away down wind and was still grinning. Good gybe headed back up wind and on to a starboard tack. I noticed it was a becoming a bit squally and saw more white tops to the waves. That's the thing, subconsciously treating it all as usual conditions, the same as dozens of days sailing before. Status: - happy blokes out for a play? Trying to hold her steady and about to clip on to go out, I think a bigger wave hit the inside of the port bow she seemed to spin on the nose. Simon appeared to be heading down the tramp. He was in fact holding on the shroud with his left leg under the forward toe strap. I enjoyed a short flight through the forward emergency exit, head first past the forestay. Cold water, glasses drill, bobbed up, retrieved the fleecy hat (after all it was not mine and I had to return it). Animal was about 10 to 15 feet away, I struck out to swim. Breaststroke at first, with all the gear the crawl is very awkward. The gap had widened alarmingly, switched to crawl and the boat really began to speed away. I could not see Simon and the gap was now more than 30 feet. The swimming stroke was a bit more frantic now but to no avail. I stopped and bobbed, I still couldn't see Simon, he was nowhere in the water in-between the boat and me. I assumed he would be on the blind side of the boat sorting out how to right her. Even now I was not as concerned as I should have been. It had not crossed my mind in anyway that I would get separated from the boat, so I had no plan. I afforded myself the luxury of an expletive outburst and realised it was time to start thinking. Right! I thought. A cat on its side could travel faster in the wind than a fully kitted swimmer. I took off my trapeze harness. Although I did not at this stage acknowledge to myself that I was in real trouble, I knew that I had to keep hold of it for the buoyancy, the concept of 'later' had not yet intruded. The intention was to float on my back and hold up the harness as a sail, I tried this for a minute and watched Animal shrink alarmingly. With my particular perspective at water level she could have been a block of flats on a distant horizon. It began to dawn on me that my sail idea was not only pathetic and stupid, but also ineffectual and lame. I was almost glad that there were no witnesses. Status: - bobbing buffoon. I bobbed a little longer with Animal almost out of sight; the thought crossed my mind "that bugger's making off with my boat!" Suddenly felt alone and quite concerned. I realised that I really knew too little about the estuary to begin making rational decisions. I reassured myself that Simon was with the boat and would hang on. I also knew that despite the fact he had never righted such a large cat on his own before, he would be doing everything he could to work something out. I knew that in any event I was in no position to help. At worst he would get blown on to the Welsh coast and find help. My second reassuring thought was that Andy was back at the clubhouse and of all the people to have there Andy is surely the best. We had been out for about 30 minutes, plus 10 minutes in the water, I remembered I had said to Andy "If we are not back in 2 hours just wait longer" - not so witty now then. No good dwelling on that, I knew that Andy would not leave the club until we were back, no question or doubt on that, not that we had asked Andy to baby-sit our return, but it is what Andy does. Thing was though; at what point would Andy react? I hung on to the 2 hours, so 1 hour 20 minutes to kill. I was aware that the effort of swimming after the boat had produced a lot of sweat; I could feel it running coldly down my chest I knew my dry suit did not leak. The sea was very brown and animated the wind not too bad this low down, but still strong. I could feel a wave of panic build up and the temptation to succumb was very seductive, a primal fear with a false promise of a primal solution. I had to think clearly, this was a survival situation. Status: - active survivor. I could see West Kirby to my left when facing the Wirral and the tide running out from the right. Choices; could either conserve energy and drift with the tide treading water to maintain heat or swim towards the Wirral. I know enough to know that you can't beat the tide by swimming but may be to able traverse enough to clear the channel and land somewhere on Hilbre. Too many things I did not know. Would I be swept out to sea in that time? If I chose to drift would I pass by Hilbre a few hundred yards from the shore knowing I may have traversed that distance when I had the chance? I just did not know. Too many ifs. I remember reading a survival book once, it dealt with jungle and mountain survival so not of much use here then, the author did say though that in survival situations whatever you may or may not believe in if saying a prayer helps then do it. The point being that a positive mental attitude is vital. I considered a quick rendition of the Lords Prayer, it wouldn't have been the first time, but I seriously felt uncomfortable with it in the light of my monumental stupidity and decided not to. I did however reserve the right to resort to it later if needed, so fickle this human. Status: - Defiant. I heard an engine, I knew at once it was a plane and looked up. I wondered if the passengers, either brown and sunburnt or pale and excited had any clue what was unfolding below them, I was tempted to wave but did not. I decided to swim; aware that energy is a finite resource I set a comfortable stroke. Crawl was too splashy and backstroke kept my head in the water, which was too cold. So breaststroke it was then. I guess doing something is better that doing nothing. Status: - Philosophical. I did remember a story about SAS training. Apparently after several days of physical and mental endurance training, individuals exhausted and disorientated were blindfolded and dropped at night from a helicopter into a lake. Some would swim off others would panic and thrash about. The correct response was to tread water and wait. The lesson was that the forces would not invest time and effort in training and developing personnel just to drown them, and what was the point in wasting energy swimming off into the unknown? In the absence of instruction or a brief the only sensible option was to maintain status and wait to be rescued, remain rational whatever happens. I'm not in the SAS and had no Army infrastructure to account for me. On my own then, just me… I struggled with the trapeze harness trailing loosely. I had tried it around my neck and then over my shoulder, I had considered ditching it but it was buoyant so I stopped and put it back on. I scanned around and I was still alone. I thought for a moment that I saw the bow wave of the rib with Andy at the helm, but no it was a white horse on the crest of a wave. It was just wishful thinking and far too soon for hallucinations. I swam on keeping myself as square to the Wirral coast as I could. I spotted a buoy and my hopes soared. It was well to my left, I could not guess the distance. If I kept swimming I might traverse enough and the tide would bring me on to it. I felt that to latch on to something fixed would be better than being swept out. Easier to spot and I could conserve energy. I had lost sense of time and wondered if Simon had hit the coast yet. I swam on and the buoy got a little bigger but was not so much to my left, I tried to maintain a transit on the coast but the visibility was not that good. I put on a spurt of speed and effort and resorted to the crawl. Worth the risk, if I made it I could then rest and wait for rescue. The tide was strong and the buoy was now directly ahead, possibly 100m. So assuming a 3-knot tidal flow about 5 kmph that is getting on for 100m of lateral drift in oooh! A minute or so. It would take me more than 2 minutes in a pool to do 100m. Even working with so many unknowns and guesstimation maths I knew it was now beyond reach, I dropped to the sustainable stroke and carried on. I doubted my plan and considered floating: kept on swimming, there are more buoys. I spotted one and repeated the previous sequence this time failing by a smaller margin. Plodded on, West Kirby now more directly ahead and Hilbre to my left. I wondered how the current flowed out around the island; I had a real fear that I would be swept past and out to sea. I stopped briefly to rest and scanned around, still alone. The sun was now orange and heading downward rapidly. I contemplated being out alone in the dark and the fear was back. Swam on and saw a third buoy, stroke was now more frantic and breathing began to rasp. I had swallowed seawater several times and was concerned how easily splashes got into my mouth, my breathing and coordination becoming erratic. Concentration was becoming sporadic; a gulf of fear threatened to overwhelm, this buoy was passing me by. Keeping Hilbre to my left was my next target, tightened the lid on the pressure cooker and thought of the family. Visualisation technique, see your goal focus and believe, bunkum! Quick check for signs of failure; had cramp in my left calf and managed to kick through it, the right was now cramping, back under control, more dogged and determined swam on. Despair is not as bad as you imagine, you peel back each layer like an onion. Even as things get worse you still cope. It's the hope that gets you, that's what breaks the coping cycle. Your hopes are raised, and you have to re-travel the same route of despair, as the hopes are dashed. Leaves you lower than before with the notion of one less chance. I prepared myself for the possibility of drifting past Hilbre, beyond there I had no plan. The choice to swim had left me tired with a dry suit full of cold sweat. Swim on. Status: - estuary effluent being flushed out to sea. The nagging doubt, tugging at my resolve more treacherous than hope.
I may give the impression of being decisive, but in reality I have never
been that confident with my ability to make 'the right decision'. I find
the trauma of dithering over different options is unbearable, so I would
say I am pre-disposed to select an acceptable option sooner rather than
later. I still doubted my decision to swim. I did need to be pro-active
in my own salvation, but having made my choice the virtues of option 'B'
may have been better begun? I could have conserved energy and waited sensibly
for the inevitable rescue search. Imagine trying to find a black football
in something the size of the Wirral at night with a torch. I scanned around
and I was still alone; I needed counsel. My wife is wise and honest and
forthright, in every respect I could trust her with my life. Should I
swim? "I don't really know, which do you feel is best?" she
would say giving an answer in the form of a question. I did not need a
debate, however well intentioned. "Where are my car keys?" I
would bleat already late for an important appointment. Stock answer, "Where
did you see them last"? My eldest daughter is fiercely passionate
about things and would fight any foe and defend me to her last breath.
She would be very upset and emotional and I had to keep my emotions in
check. My youngest 'Cakes', cool, calm and wise beyond her years. As a
parent there are no favourites but there are times with Gemma when our
inner dialogues are synchronised, events and circumstances surround us
and now and then we make eye contact and I know I am not alone. I did
not need to ask the question the answer came back. "Keep swimming,
Dad!" When Animal capsized Simon had his left foot under the toe strap. The Nacra is not like the Dart with a long and generous strap, it has two short sections of webbing on each side and much tighter. Held up by a tenuous grip on the starboard shroud he finally lost his hold, he slid down the trampoline executing a vertical pirouette (degree of difficulty 9.5, scored an 8.6 for not smiling during the discipline) but was now hanging from the twisted toe strap by his foot. With this new and altered perspective the next problem was how to avoid breaking his ankle. It took minutes to haul himself up enough to get his leg free. With the leg free the rest of him was then hanging upside down from the several sheets and lines but with his head in the water. Refreshing no doubt but hardly a reassuring prospect for the remainder of the journey. Ropes are such functional items, compliant, innocuous. They thread so willingly through pulleys and fairleads and take tremendous tensional stresses one moment, and lay passively the next. They stay where they are put, jammed in cleats waiting for the controlling hand, or lay coiled obediently, such loyal slaves. Until they sense their users' lack of concentration or a sign of weakness. Once loose and powered by water, gravity and wind they rise up ensnaring and entwining. They wrap around any unsuspecting appendage to trick and trap. Travelling in this tangle with the boat and expecting my ugly mush to appear any moment he finally broke free. Not comfortable with the situation and with no certain knowledge that the boat could be righted solo, it seemed an important task was to secure a lifeline to the boat. Back in command, the ropes and lines were obsequious once more. He couldn't understand why I was not in sight, the awful thought that I may not have surfaced at all crossed his mind, how would he explain that to Teresa, "Well, I'm sure I had him with me when we went out"! Well beyond the point of expecting me to put in an appearance, it was time to evaluate and plan. It takes time to sort things out. Finding the righting line, all the more difficult on a strange boat. Simon knew that whatever may transpire and wherever this absent helm was, that my best chance for rescue hung on Animal being the right way up and sailing. Things conspire to hinder even simple actions, the movement of the waves, the cold and the wet. Roles could easily have been reversed, I don't know if I could have been as resourceful and pragmatic. Simon lives firmly in the here and now, he accepts problems as things to be solved. I live in the past and in the future, the here and now for me presents mysteries and magic, conspiracies of time, form and fortune. Simon's actions epitomise the truth behind courage and bravery. I was forced by my circumstance to deal with the now and had few options. Against the odds Simon worked his learning curve beyond the point where most people would have given up. Poised at the outer edge of the dagger board on tiptoes, tied on to the righting line at the harness and arms over his head waiting as the gallons of water slowly sluiced of the 255 square feet of sail. Pitted against 196kg of Nacra in a tug of war and battle of wits. Animal righted, rolled straight over the other way and turned turtle, the mast hit the sand and she pivoted around; rally, learn and try again. I don't know how many times Simon worked this routine, he never let her go back over again but kept releasing the tension too early so she would drop back down. Simon saw 'Seldom Seen buoy' march past. Refusing to negotiate with the fatigue, Animal finally complied with a successful attempt. Fate had not finished it's game, Simon now caught at the stern and pinned by the righting line, Animal loose and free stampeding downwind. Simon was pulled under water at every wave. The initial euphoria at righting turned to the "oh my…. god what …… have I done?" Getting loose without losing the righting line required ducking under to free the tangle around the rudder. Free at last to move along the hull. The Nacra is much higher out of the water than the Dart making it so much more difficult to pull yourself up. At one point he began to think that he may never get back on board. Each step fought through had brought a new twist to his predicament, each solution a new set of problems. Simon rigged a winch to a trapeze ring. With not enough left in the arms to pull himself up he had to think again. Back to the stern and he put his feet up over the back of the hull and hooked his toes under the rear beam. A sit up action to roll onto the boat, genius! Time to take stock. He had to get the boat under control. Within 100m of HE4 and Hilbre, Simon began to sail back up river, the wind still strong, Animal was not pointing too well without the jib. As every minute went by, the prospect that I may not have made it seemed to grow in his mind. Simon's intention to right the boat and pick up / sail for help was still in progress but it had taken far too long. He knew he would have moved faster than me, so both help and my possible whereabouts were in the same direction. Several tacks later Simon was now headed towards Little Eye and the rocks and tacked again. In the pale orange/pink light - there was Animal! I knew he would find a way, I just knew it! I could not guess the distance but could make out the Nacra sign on the sail. The jib was flogging I could hear it. Simon was wisely keeping the boat manageable. I was surprised that I had not spotted Animal sooner, kind of crept up on me a bit, sorted now though. I shouted and waved, hope flooded back welcomed like an unfaithful love. No response. I shouted louder and waved harder. At this point I wouldn't have blamed Simon for ignoring me. I knew that was not the case, he simply could not hear me. Hope was in the driving seat. I bobbed and waved, saved for sure. Animal sailed on to my left and towards Little Eye and the rocks. He started to tack. That's it, Simon is getting a good line for the pick up. But no, he was sailing across between Wirral and me, at more or less the same distance. I bellowed and waved until it hurt and still he sailed on, passing the point. Somewhere in my subconscious a memo was sent. 'Start proceedings to divorce Hope for mental cruelty'. I was coping fine before I saw Animal. Status: - Low, so very low. Animal was now on a course away from my position. I was almost overwhelmed with futility. I ventured one more effort. I mustered a soulful wail and frantic shake of the arms almost a symbolic farewell as I rose on a lucky swell. I fell back as Simon raised a hand briefly in recognition. Once again my whole outlook changed in an instant. The pick up was textbook and faultless. My legs were burnt from cramps but the rush of adrenaline was like rocket fuel, in survival situations adrenaline is not necessarily a good thing, it burns up precious energy. It makes you brave and rash when you should be calm and cautious. Simon was weary; so tired. There was a brief moment that will remain ours. I took the helm; I felt surprisingly OK. Quick factual exchanges and we concentrated on keeping the boat under control and we headed back. It was not easy making ground against the tide and light was beginning to fade. Heard the rib approach. Andy, Richard and Steve standing like noble gladiators in a chariot, looking slightly more concerned than your average gladiator. They swung round the back of the boat and made a quick evaluation. Radio exchange; water still at the causeway, rig down and tow in. Status: - Sheepish so very sheepish. I instantly relinquished any misguided notion of my authority to Andy and his team. Simon steered and I lay pathetically on the tramp. The speed with which my body now started to shut down was alarming. Richard had crossed over and was knelt on the tramp. I looked up and said, "Do you know something Richard, I really love you!" Without batting an eye he keyed the radio to the rib, "Andy, Mark is going into shock!" Obviously thought I was delirious. He may have been right, lights were switching off in my head and I wanted to sleep. "Keep talking to me". Said Richard, in this new here and now I had nothing more to say. Status: - Saved so very saved. Got to the end of the causeway and for some reason started tarting around thinking about getting the boat up the beach. None of that; they had us straight in the rib and up to the club. We got into the kitchen and could hear the ambulance on the way. I was still thinking I would be OK in a minute. I was not fully functional, legs did not work and brain foggy. Paramedics came into the galley. In the fog a new concern was forming; Andy and his team were being very nice to me, deeply suspicious, I must be in a real state. The Paramedics were going to make me better. Clunk! The penny dropped. Said to the paramedic anxiously, "don't make me better too quick these guys are waiting the kick the s*#t out of me". Like two errant schoolboys we were marshalled into the ambulance and told to strip. I have never been unduly self-conscious about my own nudity, not that I would ever seek to impose mine on others uninvited. I recall my first ever trip to a sauna, I was in my twenties and with a friend, only the two of us in the large cabin. Presently a thin wiry chap joined us, early 40s in good physical shape, but with an endowment policy of abnormal dividend. Not that you ever make a point of looking, but at times like this you can do nothing but make mental comparisons evaluating your own portfolios standing, or not as the case may be. A portly gent who looked like a bank manager soon joined us. The sort that likes to ruin your life by saying "No!". His particular financial package would have required a great deal of faith in the concept of long-term investment with little return; he may have had a little extra tucked away, but this kind of unorthodox social research did not include closer scrutiny. With no particular hang-ups on the subject I accepted my moderate security as adequate for all future needs. Standing in the back of an ambulance with a naked close friend and 2 paramedics, Mark and Darren, I noticed that I had adopted the stature of the aforementioned bank manager: what I had was a penis only much smaller. In my fuzzy and emotionally drained state I could not endure this new insecurity and offered the feeble excuse, "I have been in cold water for over 2 hours!" It's a guy thing, honest. Wrapped up in foil and blankets I was still shaking like a soggy dog. We were quickly re-located to Arrowe Park. I enjoyed the attention of several professionals with drips and monitors attached to my arms and chest I was gently cosseted in a warm air quilt. The shivering was soon superseded by the quake of terror as the attractive (force 2) lady doctor announced the arrival of my wife. There is a turmoil and conflict that rages within the maladjusted 21st century male. Having endured an emotional roller coaster of fear and trauma, the arrival of your life-partner threatens to unleash from within an uncontrollable and embarrassing blubbering. I managed to avoid this response to her demeanour of care and concern by feigning torpor (not too difficult in my weary state). I was hearing my own words of explanation to the various staff regarding my recent near-miss and I endeavoured to mitigate the clear contributory negligence on my part with puerile references to previous deeds of sensible conduct. One large male nurse summed things up quite nicely; "Sailing. That's a sport isn't it? Same as football, we get them all in at the weekend, and them rugby players too, all injured." He continued "Can't see the point myself; all end up wounded". It was not a case of agreeing or disagreeing with him, but it was not the first time in the space of a week that I had been compared to a football player. Re: - The rescue crew curry night, a timely tribute and a worthwhile investment. Did not plan to cash in quite so soon. Simon was discharged hours before me and stood in the corridor by the doors while Sue got the car. Fully clothed holding 2 large bags of wet gear and wearing no shoes (Lady wife had omitted to include footwear in the dash from home). Having survived the Dee and several hours of wrestling the Animal into cooperation if not submission, a hospital official mistaking him for a vagrant moved him on, out of the door and into the cold. Despite protestations from Simon about just recovering from hypothermia that was it, out the door you go. The next day I was stiff and sore, I had lost my voice and thought better of going out for a race. I went down to the club, I was tempted to hide away but I wanted to say "thank you!" to quite a few people. Simon was OK to sail and the conditions were light and he had permission. I had been grounded for a week and sent to my room. I walked down the ramp with a mixture of feelings somewhere between sulky youth and whipped cur. I eyed the Dee, suspiciously searching for signs of murderous intent. There was none. In the scheme of things hardly a misadventure of epic proportions, but in real terms a lucky escape. I hope in writing this tale I have saved everyone the trouble of having to try it for themselves. Thanks again to Andy M, Richard S, Steve P, Tony M and especially Simon. Mark Emptage The Right to Reply Anyway, being new to the dormitory I needed a sleep in. Some of the smaller inmates have had to move sideways to give me bed space. It's not wise to sleep too soundly with all those 18s about. So, there I was enjoying my lie in. Disturbed by the heavy feet of the new crew, I heard me being offered round like the village bike. Well I ain't no wham bam thank you catamaran and I'll have a bit of respect, thank you very much. And, as the big new kid on the block, I needed a reputation to go with the name. The others in the dormitory were looking at me sideways after being shuffled sideways, only the one-eyed waifs weren't bothered. Something had to be done about this. Huh! Anyway, saturday morning comes and the only safe way to wake a big, fierce animal after a friday night is the polite, cup of tea sort of way. Not doing this guarantees getting me out of bed on the wrong side. The tea was not forthcoming, do you get my drift? Heavy feet were heavy footing about the hulls. GRRR! Time came for my own act of un-civil dis-obedience. I lay down on my side and refused to budge. Hah! Puny humans! Animal from the planet cat says "Take me to your leader!". Darth Animal more like. "Hissss, gurgle, no I will not, HISSSSSS,
come upright. Use the force Emptage, use the force." Anyway, now I have my own well-named reputation. I just hope my owner isn't too Nacred to race. I also hope he doesn't try to re-name me 'Docile Dee-light', because he'll definitely get his bum bitten. Now find me a pepparami, I want a fight! ANIMAL
07 Mar 03
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24 Feb 03
23 Feb 03 Anticipating the usual standard of navigation exhibited by the DSC crews, (understanding as all helms do that errors of routing are the sole responsibility of the crew) a map was included to guide us to the Dee View Inn. A few swift jars and then on to the Balti Massala Restaurant in Heswall. 20 strong and acting as ambassadors for the club we were soon identified by a patron of the restaurant as a group from a soccer team? We had barely settled into our first drink and were contemplating the menu when Mike J. mugged us for the raffle. This as he explained was to pacify our honourable treasurer for having organised a soirée off site with the subsequent loss to the club coffers of beer dollars. The prize was a large bottle of bubbly to be awarded at the end of the meal. It stood little chance of leaving the restaurant replete. The group was split into a table of 15 and a table of 5. A good move on the part of the 5 as a plate of poppadoms divided by 5 yields a significantly greater share per capita than when divided by 15. Mr Morley, Simon M, Mike J, Mike H and me as the infamous five. Despite being outnumbered we did not feel daunted by the throng across the way. Battle lines were quickly drawn and the trajectories for several missiles were explored. The manager and staff took this in good humour and remained stoic throughout, although I would surmise that the said manager was wishing he was hosting a group from a soccer club instead. We 5 decided to forgo a starter to leave more room for the main course only to sit and watch the hungry bunch opposite indulge in onion bhajis, savoury samosas and several items that would not look out of place in an Anne Summers catalogue (allegedly). The food was good and the banter lively. However one voice rose head and shoulders above the hubbub. At one end of our neighbour’s table sat Pete S, all faces turned attentively and suitably enthralled by his tale that including rounders? Netball may have also been mentioned. Appropriate verbal abuse was issued from the 5 across the divide, already mistaken for a gang of football thugs we were now running the risk of being identified as P.E. teachers. Pete was clearly in the groove and warming to his role as orator of anecdotes, he then made an uncharacteristic miscalculation in the mood and stamina of his audience he recklessly wheeled out the colloquial ‘curry in the shoe’ story. I myself have not heard this tale but I have it on very good authority I am indeed most fortunate, I was assured that I was in the minority. Pete forged on seemingly oblivious to the very unsubtle mock snores and yawns. Anna clearly had not heard it before and without the benefit of prior warning remained politely interested. In an attempt to redress the balance of not having starters the 5 embarked on a house red frenzy and almost succeeded in establishing their own bottle bank franchise, meanwhile young Rob made a dive to open the door, I believe someone on the table of 15 had produced an ‘air buffet’ of dubious odour. The doors were surprisingly narrow and struggled to cope with the gaseous discharge. To our concern our wise and venerable Commodore Pete L, began to speculate that with a co-ordinated team effort we could possibly extricate all the tables from the restaurant despite the restricted egress. The purpose of this exercise was not explained and with the deep respect we all hold for our flag officers we were too reticent to ask, but we felt that we should at least try a pint of whatever he was drinking. The raffle was drawn by the only lady present and to our abject surprise was won by the only lady present. Gentlemanly conduct held and the safe escape of the large bottle of bubbly was assured. The bill was paid and the manager was almost in a state were he would have gladly paid us to leave. All in all a very enjoyable night out and a worthy gesture. Andy Morley had secured a lift home with Simon M and me, my wife had waited patiently at home for our call. For some inexplicable reason Andy was attempting to drink the entire wine cellar. He may have been a little tense at the prospect of his first journey in the car with my wife, he did seem a little suspicious of our eager insistence that he ride shotgun. I myself cannot believe that anyone would make any derogatory comments regarding Teresa’s driving prowess, too few have survived the experience to tell. Finally I would like to thank Mike J for organising the event, the rescue crews just for being (more about that later) and I would like to ask our Commodore when we are planning to go back for the tables? Mark Emptage
09 Feb 03 Several years ago and prior to an unfortunate injury, I had a brief period when I was reasonably fit; I could cycle some distance and did a little running. A colleague at work subscribed to a running magazine. I have always marvelled at the ability of the media and journalistic professions to produce glossy monthlies on every topic and hobby however obscure. Take away the adverts, endorsements and gratuitous full-page photos, the essence remains in the form of 3 or 4 themed articles accounting for 10% or less of the overall content. Running is a simple pastime that only requires trainers, shorts, and vest and in my case a sparsely populated area to mince relatively short distances in an ungainly gait. Wrong! Running apparently is a science and art and is widely diverse requiring the best and latest in high tech materials, diets, breathing techniques and a strong genetic link to the gazelle. However, I began to accept that the running magazines generally regarded people of 12 stone + as ‘heavy runners’; I could find little advice for my particular weight group. I’ve known for many years that the laws of physics change exponentially above 15 ½ stone. The things that may appear graceful and elegant when performed by people weighing in at the national average are, for the XL group, impossible, downright dangerous or just so unsightly that they cannot be executed in sight of others with credibility or dignity. I did some research and discovered that for runners over 12 ½ stone there is a special class named the ‘Clydesdale’ after the shire horse. Undaunted and always ready to rush in where fools fear to tread I entered a duathalon: 7k run, 20k cycle followed by a final 3.5k run. Not expecting to compete with any of the real athletes, but just for a personal achievement. I tried in vain to produce a credible personal result and I approached the whole episode with all the novice-like attributes described earlier. After hours of dedicated training I was still struggling to achieve a decent running pace even allowing for my age, size and genetic disadvantages. My apparent salvation appeared unexpectedly. I went to work at the start of a night shift and the latest ‘Running Monthly’ was thrust into my hand with the words “read page 34!” I scanned the front cover and over the glossy picture of yet another racing snake breaking the ribbon in exultation, (establishing another record achievement and without the decency of breaking sweat), was the header emblazoned in fluorescent orange “RUN FASTER, tips from a leading sports coach.” I was unable due to pressure of work to get to read the article for several hours and the anticipation was unbearable. I managed to take a break and made my way swiftly to the rest room bypassing the tea facilities and fumbled with the magazine to spread at page 34. My eyes eagerly scanned and slowly focused on the first line of text, “Take bigger steps!” In all fairness, the following two pages detailed how this should be achieved with targeted training and stretching regimes. I was however left with the impression that those things we seek in an effort to gain an edge are fundamentally simple and obvious. Experience by its very nature has to be experienced and for any wealth to have value a ‘wealth of experience’ has to be earned, usually painfully. Unfortunately, no Clydesdale class exists for Dart sailors and being designed for a total crew weight of 22 stone means the Dart remains seriously compromised in the light of my gravitational attraction. The temptation to take bigger steps was just too strong. I had sold my Dart and had intended to devote more time to domestic obligations this year. I had also resolved to remain without a boat for 12 months to facilitate this and then move up a class next year. This intention dissolved rapidly when the cash from the sale ran the risk of falling into household use. I was left in a most dangerous situation in any man's life when there is: Choice from an infinite selection of possibilities, a wedge of disposable cash and a plethora of undesirable chores. Marriage exists to rescue men from these dilemmas, generally that is. So I have to admit that I am weak and inconsistent. Consequently when Simon Stannard gave me an invitation to go into partnership I caved-in spectacularly. But who could blame me? (A list is available from Teresa.) Simon had planned a visit to the Nacra Dealer in Telford, just to look, mind you. The prospective boat, a 1997 Nacra 6.0, proving to be a substantial craft of substantial beauty. The hulls of GRP sandwich construction, large and robust with chunky ropes and blocks. Lots of ropes and blocks. I visualised lesser craft bouncing off the bows without even a mark or blemish to this indefectible creature, a beast of such gargantuan proportions that establishing right of way on the water would be merely academic. Only the mangled wreckage of the foolhardy floundering in the wake of this dreadnought, clear passage assured with impunity. Not that I have ever been unduly precious in the past about any craft in my charge damaged during close quarter racing manoeuvres, but the effort to maintain a philosophical outlook in the depths of post-collision trauma syndrome is considerable. Seeing in restless sleep the recurring nightmare, chips of alabaster gel coat spinning in space, sparkling motes of matter dancing in the sunlight to the rending crunch of tormented fibres and resin. The reaper's bow punctuating the final full stop as hope drowns with the ingress of water, you know for you your race is over. The last utterance of warning hanging in the air like the outstretched fingers twitching uselessly as the precious vase hits the stone floor just beyond redemption. The knowing that the moment for action has passed into the annals of history irretrievable lost with the bitter accusations of “if only”. (The preceding statements are made without prejudice and may not be used as evidence in future litigation). The profile of the Nacra hulls are, I am assured designed to give low down buoyancy, recommended for the more generous proportion of the intended sailing team. The Nacra has a long mast with spreaders and bits that would require a whole new learning curve especially on learning to curve the mast in a beneficial direction. In the centre of each hull a hole through which a large ironing board could be inserted. These I guessed were the emergency brakes to be thrust downward into a sand bank arresting progress instantly. I have seen them used in this way to test the tearing threshold of spinnaker material to great effect. I concluded that to venture out with so much power and no way of stopping would be irresponsible. The final decision after some negotiation on the deal was easy to make. We celebrated the possibility with a pub lunch counting on the fact that we could now afford to pile on a few extra pounds. Being the sort of person who would normally select a nag, (if I was a gambling man that is), by using a pin, or by a name that caught my eye, then the name of this boat was just right. After what seemed like an age ‘ANIMAL’ arrived. It was the 18 of Jan and after some welcome instruction from the supplier. Delivery and instruction in the price, a service that is sadly lacking from larger, apparently glossier outfits, we hit the water. No matter how much effort is taken in making a major life choice, it is not until you live with the thing that you know for sure whether you have made the right decision. Reference to marriage is not implied, but feel free to infer what you will. The process can take some time, but in this case the realisation was instant. Despite the apparent complexity we took like ducks to water. I am looking forward to a good year of sailing and some competition from the other fast cats. Not looking forward to the mounting list of domestic chores and projects that will haunt me yet again. Mark Emptage
03 Feb 03 There’s a chap called Simon who goes on holiday to Ullswater, he takes his Wayfarer and pitches his tent on a quiet corner of a campsite and waits. This year he was joined by approximately 40 other Wayfarers and had a jolly fraught time organising everyone for the first few days until he relaxed. We joined the jolly throng on the Sunday evening using a borrowed trailer. Luckily it was a Wayfarer trailer, even more luckily there was already a better boat than ours on it already, so being resourceful… This caused some queer looks on our arrival, as there were several conversations,
which went thus: I probably caused most concern by defending our river. Someone who failed to recognise me from the Wayfarer Winter cruising conference at Grafham had called the Dee a muddy ditch! It was time for retribution. Imagine the scene, sitting quietly, enjoying an evening beer was the object of my ire. A large shaven headed brute comes striding towards you saying…. “You called our estuary a muddy ditch!” I suppose first impressions count and this chap had arrived on the campsite adjacent to Dee at high tide on a sunny day without his boat. He did describe the estuary as paradise, imagine his disappointment as someone pulled the plug out….anyway it become a form of greeting over the week becoming “Yes it is” and “NO it isn’t!” Some jolly fun followed after introductions and various renewals of acquaintance. It’s a source of pride that the Wayfarer cruising fleet is so friendly and this week proved to be no exception. Some friends volunteered to take our small passenger who had taken quite a shine to their puppy for the first sail. This was useful, as our boats owner arrived and came for a sail. We went from the campsite at Park foot at the north end or top of the lake to Howtown, which is around the middle, and back. We stopped at Howtown for some lunch and a visit to the local. It may not impress the cat sailors but a fleet of 36 Wayfarers evoked quite an impressive feeling. Especially as that feeling was one of pride that the Dee boat was slightly quicker than some… Day two dawned in the clichéd way it only can in trip reports. Dave and I played at spinnakers and engines (reader, you have a dirty mind!) both of which were purchased second hand at boot sale prices. The engine began, eventually. Got very hot, blew out a massive cloud of steam then purred up and down the lake. We played at spinnakers and gybed…and gybed…and gybed. Our owner in residence then had to leave for work and left me in sole charge. Finding the family had liked the previous days hostelry so much they had even used their legs to walk the 8 miles back to it left me with no crew. They took the steamer back and Aidan even got to drive it. Any sort of sailing boat can seem boring after a 20 ton lake steamer… [the editor cannot accept this statement] A trawl of the campsite for crew found me sailing solo for the afternoon
in light conditions. Some puffs were apparent, but luckily they didn’t
fancy me. Day three saw the family having a spinnaker sail down the lake to all the way to Sandwick. Sylvia kept the kite up all the way with lots of gybes in the fluky conditions. A Wanderer with another family provided a good race in the wind lottery. They also helped build a huge series of dams, docks and castles in the beach. The rest of the wayfarers played a massed game of rounders. Around 30 boats were tied up on the beach, amongst them was a racing wayfarer powered by international canoe sails. Which just goes to show that anyone can have fun in a wayfarer. Special thanks must go to Dave Williams for providing the boat. Adrian Mould
03 Feb 03 George Foreman declared during an interview that there is only one original sport. The king of that sport is boxing. Not the choreographed flamboyance of marshal arts or the undignified circus that is TV wrestling. In short he was claiming that all forms of sporting activity is therefore derived from ways of beating the daylights out of your opponent in a gentlemanly fashion. I joined the Dart fleet 3 years ago and am now moving to the Handicap fleet. Seduced to the dark side by Darth Vader, forgive me Yoda but I just need the raw power. I remember my first race with Simon M as crew. Friends and family had been lobbied and press-ganged as spectators. Armed with too little skill and only a little knowledge we hit the beach. It was a calm sunny day and Teresa had been set up with the video camera and tripod to capture the excitement for posterity. I had asked her to video the sailing, not just for vanity but also to review our performance scientifically and improve our techniques. The race sequence was started just as the gentle breeze evaporated. Only one Dart actually crossed the line and the remaining 5 boats sat on the millpond barely holding position against the incoming tide. A postcard moment of picturesque still life; frozen in time. After 5 minutes of filming Teresa wandered off and left us centre frame with the camera still running. Our assembled kin remained uninspired by the cut and thrust of team racing and had also wandered off. The racing was abandoned and we paddled in feeling rather frustrated. I later reviewed the video footage and watched the start sequence. Teresa then zoomed in to capture 15 minutes of my Dart holding station. In the last minute a tactical decision had been reached and we thought we would try our luck on the other tack. A successful manoeuvre was filmed as we drifted slowly out of the back of the frame and into oblivion. I have enjoyed being in the Dart fleet and have had moderate success with good places in most of the series and regattas. This has been due largely to consistent attendance and support from excellent crews (a debt of gratitude remains) rather than blistering speed or blinding tactics. The Dart is a very rewarding boat to sail, simple and straightforward, easy to rig and stable on the water. Good in a range of conditions and a blast when the wind really picks up. I have capsized several times, pitch-poled a couple of times and for a non-contact sport been in a few collisions. Capsized in front of another boat once and was struck in the ear by the point of the bow, managed to protect my boat from damage by placing my head between the point of contact. Only a small cut but plenty of blood for dramatic effect, the rescue boat there in seconds. The offending helm was mortified and retired, I continued and finished the race. I had no compunction in exploiting this unorthodox method to gain a place. The magic of owning and racing a Dart is the competition. Close racing with a good regular turnout. The organisation of the club ensures that this potentially dangerous sport remains safe and controlled. I would thoroughly recommend it to everyone. As for the analogy of boxing, I have been beaten many times, sucker punched, out-flanked, well and truly battered by rough weather, cut up, pushed out jostled and struck, I even had a cauliflower ear. I finished ahead of James once and beat Pete S on another occasion. Must be how Bruno felt when he floored the mighty Tyson briefly (followed by the realisation, “Ooops now I’m for it). The Marquis of Queensbury would baulk at the stretching of the rules in some clinches, no quarter asked or given on the water once the start is on. That’s where the competition stays, back on the beach and amongst the camaraderie for the post mortems and banter in the clubhouse. Many thanks I will remember these times fondly. Mark Emptage
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15 Jan 03 More details soon
7 Jan 03 Viewing the frost on a clear morning from the centrally heated side of a double-glazed window I marvelled at the crystalline purity and sparkling brilliance. Garnishing what was the familiar topography of my front garden in shades of monochrome. Drinking hot tea letting each sip spread through the filigree of sleepiness still lingering in my limbs. It is a very human trait to allow our brains to override our bodies? natural inclinations. Animals in the wild may display all the signs of courage and bravery, but in reality it is rare for a creature that depends on it?s physical integrity to take great risks or endure un-necessary discomfort. Ensuring their survival requires they do only that which is absolutely necessary. I gathered my armour and checked each item, I knew from experience that missing a piece of kit in these conditions could result in pain and dysfunction. Thermal layers, woolly bear, fleecy socks, silly hat, gloves and dry-suit. No slave to fashion when the basic need to keep this poorly designed specimen warm supersedes vanity. The test of any protective clothing is how quickly you notice the bit that does not work. Conversely how quickly we accept the defence it may provide to the point where we discount the risk altogether. I believe that the human brain has no facility to remember pain. We can of course remember the circumstances, such as ?I remember when I hit my thumb with that hammer and jumped up and down for five minutes? but the actual sensation of pain cannot be recalled. The flood of relief may wash the memory of pain away. Like ?Banging your head against a brick wall for the absolute pleasure you get when you stop?. I know the body has an automatic defence in the ?conditioned reflex?, but we can intellectually countermand some things. The door of the car was frozen shut, a hint from nature that mans? intrusion is only tenuously tolerated perhaps? Wearing a vest, T-shirt, woolly jumper and jeans I hastily loaded the gear and went back inside. I had only ventured out for a minute but I enjoyed the warm embrace of the hallway. The time had come so I intellectually overrode my natural inclination to stay by the fire in my cave and ventured out. The car had idled on the drive for 5 minutes and the windows had cleared, I drove past a neighbour and waved. He was on his way home from the newsagents with copies of Sunday papers and style magazines to read over breakfast in his warm home no doubt. I was going sailing? Dee?s car park alive with preparation, I was not the only unwise animal then, still I was not as reassured as I had hoped. There were chunks of ice strewn around flung from boat covers to break on the hard ground. As a child I loved the simple beauty of shattered ice, the perfect form transposed into precious gems with the stamp of a Wellington boot. The way they scatter and dance freely to a random pose, timeless but transient. There was some polite banter and seasons greetings exchanged between the assembled participants, a failed attempt to disguise that which we all knew. It took Andy Morley to speak the truth. ?You?re all mad,? exercising his penchant for stating the obvious in no uncertain terms, ?it?s freezing out there!? 10 boats present nonetheless so a good turnout, clearly no shortage of lemmings on the Wirral then. A windward leeward course laid and the start sequence set, 6 Dart 18?s, 2 Dart 16?s, Nacra 5.5 an International canoe and the welcome return of Ian Blair. I planned my attack of the course in the light Southerly breeze, approaching the line with seconds to spare when the International canoe broadsided me forcing an early tack and a notional withdrawal of the aforementioned welcome. The leg to the windward mark was good with a steady if weak breeze. Michelle Roberts much further ahead than was decent for what should have been a much slower craft. I rounded, gibed and stalled as Graeme closed off the wind from behind and I headed sideways towards the mark. Threw in another gibe and slowly headed inshore. Simon M having the benefit of witnessing the hazard proceeded to make the same faux pas. The fleet more spread out fought the last of the incoming tide with the last of the outgoing wind. Will, Simon S, Simon M, Graeme and Deesire headed out and the also-rans seduced by the inshore option fought their way to the leeward mark. Will again rounding first with the rest of the Darts ahead of the fastest boat in the fleet. Graeme took a penalty for touching the mark and we sailed back out to a closer placed windward mark. It is always hard in a handicapped fleet to know your position unless of course the faster boat finishes behind you. The finish on the water however was Will and Amy first, Simon and Mike second, Simon S rounded the mark on the wrong side (dipped the line for good measure), a moral third then (but no cigar!) Deesire dragging too much Christmas pudding pipped by Graeme to fourth in a closely contested finish that remains the subject of discussion, but no protest this time. The 16?s had been finished early, or not? Also the subject of discussion. Due to the evident lack of propulsion the second race was abandoned. It was good to see boats out on a frosty Sunday; it proved not to be as cold out as expected and despite the frustrations caused by light winds still enjoyable to all. I would have ribbed Steve Roberts for his performance but apparently he did a bit of ?ribbing? himself but did not get too ?Hung Up? about it. In summary the old aphorism of ?The more, the Merrier!? rings true, another human trait not displayed by animals is apathy. Check the results page for adjusted times. Did I forget to mention I finished ahead of Alasdair? How will I fair with a faster boat? Watch out for the ?ANIMAL? Mark Emptage |
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© 2003-4 Dee Sailing Club
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