savvy navvy

It's almost hypnotic. And as big a distraction as any I've yet found on the Internet.

Outside my window, the sky is blue and there's a gentle breeze. It's warm today. Summer is having a last bash at the UK and I'm glad of it and a little frustrated that I'm stuck indoors.

And the evenings have drawn in, so the Wednesday evening racing at South Cerney finished last week. I'm not sure what I'm going to do after work tonight. Cut the grass maybe.

But meanwhile, I know the tide has just turned to the ebb off Portishead. And savvy navvy tells me if we leave now, Calstar and I could be in Minehead in 6 hours and 26 minutes. In time to sit at anchor in the last of the sun and wait the tide before entering the harbour just before dark and taking the tender ashore to the pub.

I've long wanted to visit Minehead by sea. I'm going there later this month. But by road, and staying at the Butlins Holiday Camp with my wife and a couple of our friends for a long "80's themed" weekend. Don't ask. It's payback for all the sailing she lets me do. I'll be fine. I shall be sociable and take every opportunity to anesthetise myself with alcohol.

And when I can, I'll sneak away to stare at the sea.

savvy navvy lets you overlay the wind and tide onto the chart. The hypnotic thing is that the wind lines are animated and drift across the chart to indicate direction and strength, similar to the way the World Wind Map visualises them. The latter is a site you should visit if you're not already familiar with it.

The distraction, of course, is that savvy navvy is telling me where I could be going if I wasn't sat here.

It has the occasional niggle. Especially given the tides we deal with here. If it can't plot the route then it pretty much just tells you it can't, and says it's a combination of wind or tide that makes the route impossible, or suggesting you move some of your waypoints out into more open water. It would be much more useful if it told you where the route failed, then you could plan around it.

For example, if I left in an hour and a half (and as the boat is only half an hour down the road these days, I could so do that!) then I could repeat the Holms Race course in 7 hours and 25 minutes today.

But it tells me I'd need to use the engine to round Steep Holm. To be fair, I would've loved to have had the option of using the engine when we hit the lee of the island last Saturday! However, if I switch off the engine option, rather than telling me that I can only get as far as Steep Holm without the engine, computer simply says no.

Or in this case that my waypoints are too far apart. But whilst that's the third variation of route failure message I've now seen, and so much better than the arbitrary soft crashes that were clearing down the route last week (and which I'm told the developers have now fixed and I've as yet been unable to prove otherwise - that's very impressive support, in my opinion) it's too general to be helpful.

But it's easily remedied by switching the option back on to use the engine, then you see straight away that savvy navvy is having the same problem in the lee of Steep Holm that we did . . .

Complete aside. I do love how it essentially gives you its workings down the left hand panel. Arguably, they're sailing instructions; luff up here, bear away there, close hauled here, broad reach there, etc. But they're actually way too fiddly to be of any practical value on the water. But it's really useful to see how savvy navvy is working out your course. And it makes it easy to tweak it to improve things.

For example, if I ask it to plot a course from Portishead to Cardiff, which is a favourite of ours, on today's ebb it sends us around the outside of Cardiff Grounds and up the south entrance, suggesting it'll take 4 hours and 4 minutes if we leave at 1200. I'm so tempted.

However, we never use the south entrance when coming from the north, although I think if you read the cruising guides, that's the suggested route. But if you're careful with the tide and have the benefit of a shallow draft, the north entrance is quicker. And accordingly, if we add a waypoint in by the yellow utility buoy north of the Grounds, then it shaves half an hour off our time.

Which gives us a passage of 3 hours and 28 minutes. I'd have to check my logbook, but I think that would make it one of our fastest. However, it seems if we left at 1130 instead of 1200, then that would give us an estimated passage time of 3 hours and 18 minutes.

This isn't about racing, although it was obviously a big help for the Holms Race last weekend. The tides around here are significant, and the weather can, or in most cases, will change dramatically between one tide or another. If you want to go somewhere on the Bristol Channel, you should have a good idea of when you're going to get there so you know what the tide will be doing. It can often spare you a long wait at the other end for a lock to open or a harbour to float enough water to allow entry. And that, more than weather or available light, will usually inform when you need to leave.

Which makes this a really useful tool. Especially as it runs as a web app on my laptop and as an Android app on my phone, and my routes are synced between the two. I've still got 7 days to run on my trial. But I think I'm already sold.

Anyway, enough distraction. Coffee break is over. And actually, I return to my original point, it's hypnotic simply watching how the wind bends and curves around the Bristol Channel.

Calstar: Holms Race 2021

This last Saturday was the annual Holms Race organised by Portishead Cruising Club. With Calstar now based back in Portishead, I really couldn't resist joining in. We've sailed it three times before, twice with Calstar in 2015 and 2017 and the last time aboard our friend Tom's boat "Sundance" in 2019.

I guess there must be something about odd numbered years. To explain what it's all about, from PCC's website, as they describe it as clearly as I possibly could:

The Holms race is the most high profile event in the club calendar with a typical entry of over 50 boats from clubs around the Bristol Channel.

It is held in late August or early September and is a down tide race starting and finishing off Portishead, with a course of NW Elbow to port, Flat Holm to Port, Steep Holm to port, NW Elbow to starboard and finish.

Competitors choose their own start time from 2 hours after high water based on the tidal streams and the wind with the aim of passing between the Holms at slack water.

The elapsed time taken is corrected for open handicap and with a tidal correction to correct for the natural advantage for slower handicap boats on down tide races.

The 2015 race was a particularly brutal baptism by fire, one boat losing her mast, another shredding her mainsail and a third beaching herself on the mudbank outside Portishead before she could even start. We placed 21st out of the 39 boats that managed to finish. There were more than 60 entries. A dozen or so were sensible enough not to even try to start.

The 2017 race was lively, but not quite as bad. We finished 20th out of the fleet of the 54 boats that made the start line. About ten of them failed to finish the course, albeit none for reasons as dramatic as the demasting, grounding or shredded sails of 2015.

2019 was a drift, and I screwed up the navigation badly, misjudging the tide and the lack of wind so we missed the first mark of the course, the cardinal buoy North West Elbow. As our skipper Tom observed at the time, we took it correctly to port, but were sadly travelling backwards with the tide on the wrong side of it at the time. 

With no chance of getting back against the strong ebb to round it correctly, our race was in default before it had hardly begun, and the rest of the day relegated to a pleasant Bristol Channel cruise until the tide turned around to carry us back home.

Saturday's forecast was for about 10 knots but, uncharacteristically, from the north east. That would turn the down channel leg into a 16 mile run. It sounds comfortable, but a Bristol Channel tide running with the wind can turn a light breeze into a listless drift. As we'd discovered to our cost back in 2019.

High water off Portishead this year was due 0608, but only a mere 9.9m as we were just coming off neaps. The start gate opened at 0800, so we could pick our start for any time after that. The down channel leg to Flat Holm is 16 nautical miles, and the idea, as the club's website states, is to get there for local low water, which was expected for 1144.

Calstar's average cruising speed under sail is around 4 knots. Get the tide right, and you can improve a little on that. Get the Bristol Channel tides right and you can improve a little more. But in the week leading up to the race, as the forecast settled out, I was growing increasingly paranoid about repeating our mistake of 2019, and ending up in a drift that failed to make NW Elbow, or perhaps less humiliatingly, didn't make Flat Holm before the tide turned and washed us all the way back home.

Early last week, my mind was settling out on a cautious 0830 start, maybe even 0800 if the forecast showed the wind easing even further as the week wore on. The Saturday before the race we booked the lock out for 0730 to keep our options open.

Around the middle of last week, against my usual instincts, I capitulated to some heavy, directed advertising on social media, and took a look at an app called savvy navvy. At first glance I thought it was a replacement or competition for Navionics, which is the chart plotter app Dad favours on his iPad. I prefer to use the raster charts supplied by a company called VisitMyHarbour using an Android app called Marine Navigator, though I did have a subscription to Navionics as a backup that had just expired (and as I never used it, had no intention to renew)

It turns out that savvy navvy isn't really a chart plotter, or if it is, it doesn't really compete with either mine or Dad's favourites on that score. What it is however is an excellent passage planning tool. You give it your boat's specs, say whether or not you're willing to use the engine, drop your waypoints on the chart, tell it to plot, and it works out your course against the tide and weather forecast and tells you how long the passage is going to take. 

Which is sweet, as it takes into account wind and tide strength and direction providing for the best course to steer. It then lets you set your intended departure date and time, and recalculates everything from this point, which shows you the difference the tide and weather make on your passage time dependent upon when you depart.

Which is exceptionally handy when your passage planning consists of lots of big tides and some very serious tidal gates. And, sat behind my desk in the middle of last week, it suggested that, whatever my misgivings, I was on course to make a very big mistake in leaving too close to the start line opening at 0800 on Saturday morning. In fact, setting the course and then varying the start times across the morning suggested the following:

Low water at Flat Holm was expected for 1144, but the tidal flow, which the savvy navvy web app showed very nicely, didn't actually turn foul for another hour after that. Which is all stuff I already knew from the actual paper charts, but seeing it so visually illustrated on screen was a real help.

Unfortunately, as the week progressed, on Thursday I tried recalculating the course with the app using the more up to date weather forecast, and the Bristol Channel won; the app had a kind of soft crash, repeatedly wiping my course every time I asked it to plot.

I raised the issue with their support (and it has to be said they've been ever so helpful since). But in any case, it had already given me the information I needed.

Anyway, enough of the prelude.

Dad and I headed down to the boat Friday evening, had supper at the local pub, and then a relatively early night set for an early start Saturday. At 0630 the following morning I met my friend Michele Inversi in the pub car park and walked him down to the boat. Mick sail a Scorpion at South Cerney Sailing Club and had mentioned an interest in coming out to sail with us on Calstar some time. The Holms Race seemed like the perfect opportunity.

We cast off at 0710 beneath a clear blue sky and a gently warming day. The lock was predictably busy, with seven of us crammed in. The gates opened onto the Bristol Channel to reveal a small flotilla of boats already outside, either waiting at anchor, moored loosely to the breakwater wall or loitering under power and stemming the tide.

We motored out, picking our way through the throng, and once outside the Hole clear of the mud bank, followed the shoreline a short way up channel before dropping the anchor in about 5m of water. Dad put the kettle on, lit the stove and we idled away the time before our departure with black tea and bacon sarnies.

The start line opened at 0800, some of the keener vessels began to prepare, and before long the VHF crackled with crews identifying themselves to the race committee ashore at Battery Point and announcing their intentions to start. 

We continued to sit tight, watching the colourful blossoming of spinnakers and cruising chutes as the departing vessels made their way down channel. Around 0910 we started the engine and weighed anchor. It came up easily from the soft mud, and Dad at the helm picked his way through the field of boats still at rest as I hauled up the mainsail into the face of a gentle breeze.

We turned down channel towards the line, stilling the engine. The headsail collapsed in the shadow of the main as we settled onto our course, so Mick and I pushed it out on a goosewing with the whisker pole. We didn't have a pole in the 2015 race, when it would've been very handy for the final leg back. We carried it in 2017 and although carrying it cost us 17 points on our handicap we never had the chance to deploy it because of the wind direction. 

This time it was definitely going to earn it's keep.

We called up Race Control on the VHF to announce our approach and intention to cross the start line in the company of a handful of other boats and at 0929 and 31 seconds we were over and finally racing.

For all that it was a race, it was gentle, leisurely sailing. Blue sky, flat sea, and according to the anemometer in my hand, a mere whisper of 3.5 knots of apparent wind from astern at deck level. Across the first stretch down to Clevedon and the narrows of the Bristol Deep we were continuously passed by a stream of sleeker, faster racing machines, their kites and asymmetrics lending the day a glorious bouquet of colour.

Seeing them all go by so soon was actually reassuring, except for the nagging doubt that if they'd timed the tide right then I'd have left it too late and would get shut out by the tide at Flat Holm. We dropped the pole and gybed the headsail as we approached Clevedon, staying over the deepest water and strongest tide, settling onto a broad starboard reach that promised to take us around the right side of NW Elbow this year. I sailed intentionally high just to be sure though. Our speed over ground was just shy of 6 knots.

We rounded NW Elbow at 1055, a couple of the faster boys streaking past on the inside under the gorgeous bloom of their asymmetrics. As we bore away onto a dead run to hold to the deep water, the headsail collapsed so Mick and I poled it out on to a goosewing to starboard again. The horizon astern was pebble-dashed with a riot of spinnakers as the bigger, faster boats chased us down.

An hour later and we were still goosed and on our final approach to Flat Holm. The sky remained warm and blue, the breeze astern beginning to freshen and the boat still pushing 5 knots or more over the ground. Most of the fleet were now ahead. We could see them stacking up between the Holms, with the front boats just emerging from the other side of Steep Holm to try beating their way back up channel but going nowhere fast against the still ebbing tide.

The Holms are beautiful, especially in warm sun and easy weather. Verdant, rugged and scarred, beaten by the relentless, elemental fury of the Bristol Channel but immobile and eternally defiant. They are like gatekeepers to my home sailing ground and gateway to the world outside, and I find myself continuously orientating myself relative to them when I'm within their sight, whether on shore or at sea.

We gybed under Flat Holm at 1210, and found our boat momentarily disorientated in the lee, bereft of both both wind and tide. We edged our way over the shallows and out in to the deep channel again above the Makenzie Shoal. The tide was ambivalent and with 2 miles to cover to reach Steep Holm before it turned, I was anxious not to get caught and washed back up in what felt like treacherously light winds that had, clear of the island, fallen astern onto our port quarter.

We sailed as deep as we could on a port reach without the headsail collapsing, the course suggesting it would just clear Rudder Rock on the western end of Steep Holm. Our speed sluggish at first, but as we left the deep water channel between the islands it picked back up and our course held good, the tide progressively lessening it's hold on us.

At 1240 we were abreast of Rudder Rock off the western tail of Steep Holm and safely across. In the lee of the tall island and too close to the shore, the wind stopped. We could see a sheer line ahead with surface turbulence suggesting more wind and, in the grip of its confusion, a boat ahead of us. We watched as their sails collapsed and then bellowed again, the boat doing a full 360° complete with a tack and a gybe before the flow took them out from the shadow of the island and they settled gratefully into clearer air.

We followed, using their own temporary misfortune as a guide to what was coming down the line for us. I took the tiller, the auto helm completely baffled, and hand on mainsheet, steered up on the fickle breeze, close hauled, hardening up and bearing away with the little way we carried; anything to tease the boat to keep her moving.

As we came out of the shadow of Steep Holm, the flood tide churned the sea against the breeze as it bit, and we went from becalmed in the lee to close hauled and shouldering through a short, sharp, foaming chop with 30° of heel. I played the main to keep the little boat happily on her feet until we were well clear of the eastern point of the Holm and the gravel spit that extends beyond it, and then we tacked. 

By 1300 we were clear of the Holms and on our way back via NW Elbow. Although we still had a handful of other boats for company, we could see most of the fleet pulling ahead into the distance now; most seemed to be holding a starboard fetch far out towards the Welsh shore before tacking to lay the mark. 

We settled onto our beat back out in to the deep water. The wind was fresh, so we put a roll into the headsail to stiffen the boat up and stop her fighting the helm quite so much. It reduced the heel back down to a steady 20°, but didn't seem to touch our speed over the ground, the little boat simply surging forward as the gusts hit rather than fighting the helm to round up.

We picked a course upwind to keep us in the deepest water and strongest tide, pretty much reversing the track we'd previously run down on our way out. With Mick and Dad to help with the sheet handling, tacking was easy, for me at least, so I kept them busy at it. And neither seemed to mind.

By the time we were passing NW Elbow again, the wind had eased a little, though the tide was now in full spate. We shook the roll out of the headsail and carried on up the beat under full canvas. The race off Clevedon was quiet today in the light tide, the only complication being a large freighter outbound from Royal Portbury Docks, but the timing was unusually good and our course took us inshore as she steamed down channel and past us, before we tacked astern of the ship and beat back out to the deeper water with no interruption to our intended route.

We crossed the finish line 32 seconds past 1624, just behind a handful of other boats completing the course. Out of the fleet of 46 there were only about 3 other boats behind us yet to finish. As we started the engine and dropped our sails, we could hear the lock having a busy time of it getting everybody back into the marina. We called up to ask for a place, and were told we were number 32.

However, by the time we turned into the Hole, most of the early finishers had already locked in, so we only had to wait half an hour or so for the lock ahead of us to clear before our turn came around.

By 1738 we were back alongside our berth in Portishead, our sailing done; 42.5nm left in our wake, and 9 hours and 18 minutes from slipping our lines to coming back alongside. More than an hour of that was spent at anchor sipping tea and eating Dad's bacon sarnies though. It's a brutal life, this racing lark.

Because of a computer crash, the results were delayed, so we had to wait until they were published online before we could see how we'd done. But it had felt good. All the timings had worked out, Mick and Dad crewing had made my life very easy for the beat back up channel and I felt we'd picked the best course we could to make best use of the small tide. 

And, whilst it arguably made little difference to the boat speed downwind, Mick's company had been a pleasure and, upwind, he had provided an extra body to flatten the boat and a practiced pair of hands to make the tacks fast, clean and easy. He's very welcome back aboard any time.

So I felt fairly sanguine about the result. We'd sailed well. The savvy navvy modelling had suggested a passage time of 07:12 for an 0930 start and we'd managed it in 06:55. For all the inconvenience of the app crashing, I have to say I was very impressed with it for getting the plot so close and saving me from an unfortunately premature start.

I figured something in the top 20 would be nice, especially if it was an improvement on our 2015 and 2017 results.

On Sunday evening the results were published. We took 11th place out of the fleet of 46. Our best result so far by a generous margin. I'm very pleased with that.

Laser: Cotswold Open, retrospective

Credit for these photos go to Cotswold Sailing Club, who hosted a Laser Open that I attended back on 17th July. Which makes this a very late report. 

I came back across the photos though as I was digging out the pictures to accompany the entry I've just (finally) posted for the Moth Nationals, and felt them too good not to share. And a race report written up just after the event by our club's Laser class captain brought it all back. I confess I've leaned very heavily on Kean's report to supplement my memory for the words that follow.

CSC is only five minutes down the road from my own club where I keep my Laser at South Cerney, so it took longer to strap the boat onto the trailer than it did to travel.

It was a brilliantly sunny day, very hot and with a little bit of a breeze but from an awkward direction. Then again, when you're racing on a lake, an awkward direction is so often less the exception than the rule.

Two of us visited from South Cerney, myself and my friend and fellow Laser sailor Kean, along with three visitors from neighbouring Bowmoor, and one from further afield up at Barltey Sailing Club. We joined five home boats.

The first race seemed to use every mark on the course and seemed to overrun for about a couple of laps. A local sailor won it by a long margin, whereas I managed a comfortable 4th. The race committee self corrected for the second race, reducing the number of marks and the length. The visitor from Bartley took 1st this time. Uncharacteristically  consistent, I took 4th again.

The Covid restrictions still in place at the time meant that lunch was a bring your own job, but CSC kindly provided some ice creams, very welcome in the weather for those of us that don't have a lactose intolerance!

Race 3 followed the same course as the race before, and saw my club mate Kean pull off a superb port flyer at the start giving him a good head start over the rest of us which he maintained for a couple of laps, but eventually fell back. Again, showing uncommon constancy, I took a 4th.

After the race, as we waited on the water for the next one to begin, the safety boat moved between us, handing out bottles of chilled water. A very nice touch on the part of our hosts.

Race 4 saw most of the fleet try to emulate Kean's earlier port end start, but they were caught our by their numbers and a late shift in the wind that left the committee boat the favoured end. Avoiding the crowds, I got a great start and the following race was a battle with the visitor from Barltey that I eventually lost, but took by best result of the day with a 2nd place.

Back on shore, boats packed away, the results were announced over cake, chilled water and the left over ice creams. The visitor from Barley took 1st place with 3 wins, one of the Bowmoor sailors took 2nd, and a local sailor took 3rd.

Consistency being my personal theme of the day, I just missed a podium place, taking 4th overall.

It was a great day of close racing; we were well looked after by our hosts who set some very good courses to sail in what I think were very tricky conditions due to the wind direction.

Moth: BMBA Nationals

[06/09: I wrote most of the following on Sunday 8th August, the weekend after returning from the Nationals, but it has since languished in my drafts folder as a busy month of gigs and boats and summer distracted me from finishing it. And knowing I hadn't finished this held me up from posting anything else, becoming something of a vicious circle that to my shame and chagrin I'm hardly a stranger to. So apologies for my neglect, and I shall at least try to do better from now on]

My home for much of last week was a small tent in a campsite on the edge of the River Severn in Shropshire, five minutes away from Chelmarsh Sailing Club where the British Moth Nationals were being held.

I'd been invited up by my friend Ray, and offered the loan of a lovely boat, 894 "Northern Soul" in return for bringing my guitar along with me and doing a couple of numbers with him on one of the evenings. Actually, the loan wasn't conditional on bringing my guitar, but it is another of our common interests aside from sailing, he did ask, and actually, I was quite flattered that he wanted to play with me.

Ray's a lucky man. He's retired from running a very successful business, has a lovely house and is married to his childhood sweetheart Mary. Although I think we make our own luck.

He doesn't sail Moths anymore as Parkinsons has finally robbed him of the agility needed for the little boats, but he still has a couple and actively supports the fleet and its association. He does still sail, regularly racing an International 2.4m at his club in Chelmarsh.

I drove up to Chelmarsh on the Tuesday, arriving at noon to meet Ray at the club. We checked and rigged Northern Soul and I took her out for a practice sail in the gentle breeze, chasing Ray in his 2.4m and another of his friends in another of Ray's Moths around the reservoir. Because of Covid concerns, camping wasn't allowed on site at the club this year, so I retreated the campsite at the nearby Unicorn Inn to pitch my tent. 

That evening Ray and Mary invited me to supper, joined by our mutual friend (and current chairman of the class association) Rich. Needless to say supper was as delicious as the company was good, and afterwards we retreated to Ray's music room where we spent the evening working our way through his collection of guitars and jamming.

The turnout for the Nationals was a little down this year, a few familiar faces missing, numbers perhaps suppressed by the pandemic and all that goes with it. But we still had 19 entries, so the competition was keen and the racing close and engaging.

Wednesday, and the first day's racing was in light conditions, winds no more than around 5 knots. The courses were set well however, and Moths are a treat to sail in light winds. They take only a whisper to get moving, and turn on a penny. 

One of the great things about class racing, where all the boats are of the same design and potentially matched in performance, is that wherever you are in the fleet, there is always some close racing to be had. I finished the day's couple of races comfortably in the middle. The lighter conditions had favoured the more canny, experienced helms, my friends in "Wobbily Bob" and "Ockhams Razor" most definitely having put me in my place. But I'd come out ahead of my fellow South Cerney club member in "Blue One" (ironically, of which there were two at the Nationals) and, surprisingly, "Gromit".

The weather changed the following day. Thursday brought in heavier winds; averaging around 15 knots but gusting well into the twenties. As things were not expected to improve before the end of the week, the race committee ran three races across the day in case conditions deteriorated even further on the Friday. 

The British Moth, a 1930's design originally intended for steep banked, narrow rivers with light, fickle airs, becomes a little bit of a handful in a blow. The first race went well. I set up a good start, then kept the boat upright through the vicious gusts to finish with a credible 6th place, beating Gromit, Wobbily Bob and Ockhams Razor, though Blue One did better, taking 4th.

Feeling confident, I lined up another good start for the second race, only to have it completely ambushed when the other "Blue One" from Medley Sailing Club got caught out by a gust and capsized on top of me on the start line, just as the gun went. That turned into the first of my two discards, Bob and Gromit beating me back into place, though I did in the last lap finally inch my way back past Ockhams Razor on the last beat and locked him out on the finish line to place myself just ahead of him in 11th.

The third race of the day gave me my best result of the event. With the gusts building, I stopped being quite so tender with the sail controls and flattened everything off hard upwind. It paid out, giving me a 4th and letting me have the best of both the Blue Ones, Gromit, Wobbly Bob and Ockhams Razor.

Thursday evening, back at the Unicorn, and the Association held their AGM after supper. The supper was good, the AGM as dry as these things ever are. They did however make Ray a life member by unanimous vote, in acknowledgement of his contributions to the class over the last few years.

Afterwards, some of Ray's friends in a band called Rumour put on a very good show for us; lots of Fleetwood Mac covers and the like. During their break I plugged my guitar into their PA and did a handful of songs with Ray, who then stayed up on stage to do a couple with Rumour when the band returned. Needless to say, Ray was brilliant, and worth every drop of the applause the crowd gave him.

The final day saw the wind shift into the west, averaging around 14 knots but bringing it over the trees on the far bank, making for some very treacherous gusts and shifts on the first beat up to windward. I got caught out by one on the first of the two races; hiked out hard on the beat and focused on the boat, I didn't spot the incoming gust. The wind headed me with it, stripping the power out of the sail and toppling the boat over on top of me. I tried to save it, but wasn't quick enough and found unceremoniously dumped in the water and frantically swimming around the boat to the centreboard to try and stop her turtling completely.

The carbon fibre mast and buoyant hull of a Moth makes for an easy boat to recover, but that's a double edged sword. Unable to vault up on to the centreboard before she came up, the first attempt saw the wind whip her straight back over on top of me again. Another frantic swim around the hull, and a second go, and this time, coming up in to the wind, I was able to pull myself back in before she fell over again.

My friend Ian sailing "Scruff" who was coming up the same beat behind me and saw the whole thing later complimented me on the speed of my recovery, but it still gave me my worst result of the whole event, placed in 12th position.

The final race was an improvement in that I managed to stay upright. The conditions remained tricky, but I managed a mid fleet finish in 8th place, which let me discard the result from my race with the fouled start the day before.

So my final result was 7th place out of a fleet of 20, which probably makes it my best British Moth Nationals yet, but I reckon was entirely down to the quality of the boat Ray was kind enough to lend me. And they gave me a trophy for it, amusingly called the "Bit in the Middle", which I suspect I earned as much for my set accompanying Ray on the evening of the AGM as I did for my sailing the boat he lent me.

As a postscript, I should add that most of the photos accompanying are not mine; I've shamelessly stolen any that featured me in some part of them from Chelmarsh Sailing Club's website, so credit should go to them, as it should also for hosting such a brilliant, fun event.