Laser: wetwork

 

Wednesday evening's forecast wasn't pretty. Fine during the day, bright and blustery, but by evening the wind was set to drop and the rain set in. Despite this, a dozen boats still turned up for the evening's Hotdog race.

We rigged in the rain. We launched in the rain. The wind was fickle, light and shifty, but for once it was generally settled in its prevailing south-westerly direction across the lake, which let the Race Officer set a more or less conventional windward start.

I spotted the heavy port bias very quickly, but felt insecure, as everybody else was starting on starboard at the pin end. I toyed and toyed with the idea of a port flyer, but as the final minute counted down, my convictions failed; the wind felt too light and changeable to offer any real certainty, so I hedged my bets and sailed up the line on port, intending to tack just before I met the front of the fleet and start on starboard with the rest of them.

And then in the final seconds, the wind picked up, lifting me on port and I thought for a moment I might just do it. Then in the last second or two it eased, putting me on a collision with the front solo, which I just narrowly avoided by tacking under him, almost stalling the boat, and pinning myself out to port in his dirty air for the first third of the beat.

There are so many ways I could've got that start right. 

And I botched them all.

Regardless, I made it up to windward in the middle of the pack, a starboard rounding as usual, but with only a dozen of us out on the water, surprisingly civilised. At some point over the first lap, the rain stopped and the wind spun around 180 degrees. I spent the next fifty minutes climbing my way slowly back up the fleet over the three laps that were given to us.

I finished 2nd boat on the water, and scored a 4th place after the handicaps were worked out. Not displeasing, but totally undeserved given the hash I'd made of my start.

We put the boats away and got changed in the cold carpark behind the Clubhouse, and then retired to the patio outside the Clubhouse bar for a drink and the requisite hotdogs. A little later, post race dissections and socialising done, I glanced at the temperature on my dashboard when I finally got back in my car to drive home. 

It read 1°C.