A Winters tale of Captain Sensible and his trapped Moth

There was snow on the hills under a silver grey sky, and I was on my own in the harbour it seemed.
Its unsurprising given I’ve just lifted sheet of ice off my boat that could’ve housed a small colony of seals. But this is fantastic, with a high spring tide and Poole Harbour suddenly becoming the largest natural harbour in the world.

I’m caning downwind at 20kts towards the open ocean and then a flash in front of the boat and deceleration like an f16 catching the landing wire. Except it was a submerged mooring line, but it did the trick just as well. In that half a second my ears waited for the crack of carbon. And joy of joys… silence, except for me splashing around for my beanie. All intact. Thank you God… and John.

But then I found that the fast tide was pinning against the wing with the mooring line underwater, hooked through the wingbar, tight as hell. I dived down a couple of times to try and release it – and it was cold cold cold. I half expected to doff my cap to a polar bear on each dive. This wouldn’t be a great place to spend time waiting for help. One last dive and I finally got the line free.

Up to that point I wasn’t unduly worried – Even in mid winter I’m always happy venturing out alone with no boats around, and no rescue cover. I have two emergency water bottles in cages on the wing bars. Bottle one holds: a “pay as you go” mobile with all my mates numbers who have access to a rib, a twenty pound note if I get becalmed and need a cab home, a leatherman, some gorilla tape, line, block and cable ties. Bottle two holds a really small waterproof vhf radio – if the shit really hits the fan. And I keep a rescue knife in my buoyancy aid. (people have drowned under a dinghies for want of a knife). I’d recommend this kit for sailing solo midwinter on the sea – it gives you loads of confidence so you can really concentrate on the sailing.

And what a great days sailing it was. The sky turned ice blue and the breeze steadied and the harbour was my playground.

Joy
Joy
Joy.

The Black Pudding. The Beer & The Hayling Tide Ride (08)

This is a black pudding....




So I seem to be jumping back in time a little here to the Tide Ride open at Hayling Island last autumn. I never did blog it and Si Proppers remark about warm sick made me think of it again, in a new light….

The forecast was dire and in fact all racing was cancelled from the Solent down to Weymouth, an invigorating 30 odd + knots being the cause. Saturdays racing was wisely binned by the race officer, probably not wanting to make the front page of the Hayling Herald, or equivalent, with a story of destruction and doom. But a rare appearance by Sam Pascoe who ventured out for a little recreational jaunt in the 30kt breeze kept us all amused from our stalls on the beach where we watched with crossed arms, sucking of teeth and appreciative “blimeys”. But his steel nerve held longer than the creaking carbon and after a great show he returned to cheery applause.

That evening the band played on. And they were great.

But here I made my first tactical error of the event, near the bar.

Gary “Feltman” Ireson offered me that third pint. “No tah mate.” But he didn’t take no for an answer, the first time, or the second, or the third. And after a while we were pogoing in front of the lead singer like there was no tomorrow.
And of course there was a tomorrow and The Wise Ones were wisely tucked up in bed. But we continued the evening till morning when life support finally shut down the show.

Sunday morning and I didn’t feel too rough. Which was strange. And of ominous portent. We headed for the café for some pre-race carbo-packing.

My second tactical error was upon me. I love black pudding but it was, with hindsight, not the most clever of selections. All washed down with OJ and ibuprofen. Glory glory.
It might get gory.

Here is the recipe for a lovely black pudding in case you are interested…

1 quart pig's blood
1 quart milk
three quarters pound bread crumbs
1 cup cooked barley
a half pound suet
1 cup dry oatmeal
salt and pepper to taste
1 ounce powdered mint

And this is the Moth...



The RO called it a go and out we went into a brisk f4-6. So it seemed. Up the first beat the excesses of the night, and the beer and the black pudding caught up with, and overtook me. A moth isn’t a J24 where you can hide a hangover behind a still and studious tactical frown. The stiff Hayling chop and some hard hiking were taking their toll.

I’d heard stories of how they calm the waves by laying down a slick of oil.
And by jove its true.
I said my fond farewells and let my lovely black pudding and OJ go,
and lo, I saw the waters calmed.
Feeling lighter I’m certain I went faster. The wrong way up every beat.

My third tactical error was not to gybe-set and my confidence in my new found foiling gybes was quickly undone. With the tight little courses I found a string of 20kt moths on starboard in my sights/crumple zone and though I fired through a hole in the line once, I didn’t risk it again. Unfortunately I had learnt to gybe in a “resthome chequered rug” sort of way, and not with the appropriate “when I hit the dashboard with the vengeance of thor” urgency. And so I swam, again, and again.
Luckily though, the water was smoother.....

It was great adrenaline fuelled racing and we all returned in one piece, in fact the highest finished percentage of all the high performance classes there. A real testament to our tough and well put rocket ships.

I got off the water feeling a little disappointed with my performance but a look at the results board gave me a glimmer of hope. The reward for Norman like (terrier) persistence, 10% capability mixed with 90% bloody mindedness sometimes pays. So I left the Tide Ride heartened and with huge enthusiasm for the coming year. I vowed to learn to gybe quicker, and on demand, as some other mad bugger screams into view.

And…

To cut down on the pies and attempt to get fitter.

Above all,
after drinking, before racing,
not to eat black pudding ….