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 ….
