SCSC: the importance of just sailing the boat

Yesterday evening's race at the Lake did not go to plan. Although a 30 knot squall and heavy rain came through at 1800 just as we were beginning to rig the GP14, once it passed through it dried out and the north-westerly wind dropped into the low teens.

So the wind wasn't really the problem.

The problem began with the start line. The race was run from the committee hut ashore, so it was a reaching start due to the wind direction. The GP is a lovely boat, and the more I get used to her, the more I enjoy her, but she's got a very large genoa, so visibility is a bit rubbish.

Which wasn't the entire problem, but certainly contributed. It didn't get in the way of me seeing the Scorpion approaching us on starboard, for example, just as we'd hit a lull and a shift that gybed us onto port but otherwise left us stationary in the Scorpion's path.

"Protest"

Fair enough. And with another thirty seconds to go before the start, plenty of time to take a couple of penalty turns and reposition. Unfortunately, whilst I was looking for the best space to do that, half an eye on my watch and head full of tactics, neither I nor Amanda spotted the Laser hidden behind our genoa. That is, until the thump came and our bows rode up onto her.

The freeboard of a Laser is pretty close to the water, and our relative lack of velocity and the line of our bow-stem meant we just slid up and then back off; a bit of dark scuffing but no apparent damage to our boat or our victim. Damage to our pride was another matter altogether.

No excuses. It was a dumb thing to do. Yes, the start-line was crowded, but sometimes you've just got to remember to sail the boat, and first and foremost that means sailing clear and not hitting anybody else.

By the time I'd apologised profusely and we'd done our two penalty turns (and I'm not sure if it shouldn't have been four, two for the Scorpion and two for the Laser) the rest of the fleet was over the line and most of the way to the first mark.

Still dizzy from our turns, we ducked back to the line to ensure we had a clean start, set the spinnaker for the reach and set to chasing the fleet.

It could've turned out okay. It was gusty, and upwind we made good time with both Amanda and I hiking hard to keep the boat flat and pointing. Downwind, it was painfully obvious we're both still very new to the spinnaker. 

The hoists and drops are getting better. And to our credit, despite the occasionally blustery conditions, we didn't hesitate to hoist at every opportunity. The sail isn't intimidating us any more as, if I'm honest, it did at first. However, we messed up a couple of drops, bringing the kite back into its bag on the wrong side of the jib sheets. 

That made for a horrific tangle on the next hoist, and once the bird's nest of sail, sheets and halyard was unwound, the kite went up in an uncontrollable figure of eight that took another drop and hoist to sort out. And dropped us out irredeemably to the back of the fleet.

But it's all good practice. She's a good boat, we just need to use her to her full potential. I should stress none of this was the crew's fault, and although I think Amanda was frustrated with herself, I really hope she realises that.

Forecast looks light for Sunday. We shall have another go.

No photos. My hands were too full of boat to think of taking any. So the photo at the top is from a sunny, calm Sunday a couple of weeks ago.

SCSC: of drifts and screamers

A photo of our GP14 taken a couple of weeks ago. Despite the pink spinnaker Amanda wasn't actually crewing for me; we had sailed the morning races together, and then Alex (an infectiously enthusiastic thirteen year old) came out with me for the afternoon pursuit, which we won.

The photo was taken from the shore by his dad, Mark. Conditions were very, very light. This spring the weather seems to have gone from one extreme to the other, and it's either been a drift where it's been very difficult to get enough pressure into the sail to set the kite, or a white-knuckled 30 knots screamer of a blow where the idea of launching the kite has terrified both helm and crew. No easy middle-ground where we'd have the opportunity to get used to the third sail.

So Amanda, myself and Alex are still getting ourselves into frequent tangles, more often than not. Admittedly, Amanda and I more than Alex and I, but Alex has the advantage of lots of spinnaker practice racing with the cadets.

We're still having very good fun working the boat out though. 

Gigs tonight and tomorrow, then I'm racing at the lake again on Sunday. Amanda can't make it as it's her mum's birthday, so I've got Alex crewing for me all day. The forecast is 15 to 26 knots from the northeast, which, when your crew weighs less than your dog, is likely to be a bit of a handful.

Three races are scheduled, two class handicap races in the morning, and a pursuit in the afternoon.

unimpressed (but still cute)

I was a little late picking Lottie back up from the groomers yesterday. Apparently, she was not impressed. Lottie, that is. Amanda, the lady with the brush and clippers, was very understanding (as was her next client whom I'd kept waiting).

Lottie turned 4 last month. They grow up fast.

Freefall: mud and rain

Dad is recovering well, and seems very happy with his new bionic knee. He actually made it back out to his first gig again last Saturday. It should've been a balmy evening sat in a farmer's field, watching the band play on the back of a truck.

Of course, we're still in the midst of an English spring, and after a few weeks of sunshine and hot weather, on Saturday night the rain set in thick and hard just as we arrived to set up, and didn't relent until the gig ended, when the rain then cut off as if on cue.

We had to rely on a friendly local to tow the band's trailer out of the field with his pickup, then go back to tow the drummer's car out.

It was otherwise fun, although a bit nippy; my breath was steaming in the air as I sung. Dad was fine, we installed him on a camping chair in the bar tent where he comfortably spent the night out of the rain watching the band play.

I've now got to clean the mud off my kit in time for tomorrow night's gig.

Dad and I hope to get down to Petrella for the end of the month; it's a bank holiday weekend, so if the weather is kind and his knee suitably healed, we hope to make Fowey or Falmouth or both. It will be our first cruise of the year. In fact, between my health (which is now, happily, fully recovered) and his, it'll be our first since our last trip out to Salcombe last August.

So the first sail of this year is shockingly late. I quietly wonder if perhaps I should give up on the south coast and perhaps look for a boat that's a little smaller and easier to manage single-handed, and closer to home.

But I'll park that thought for now. Petrella and I are far from done. It's just been a frustrating eight or nine months.