Serendipity (1)

When I crossed over into the safety boat I think I was slightly in shock. Very cold but not yet hypothremic, and feeling really sorry for myself I plonked myself down on the side of the RIB.



"What's your name mate?" I didn't feel like talking but told the helm my name anyway. He introduced himself as Dave and his crew was called Ray. It was a bit like meeting someone in a pub, it was that casual. We carefully motored around my boat, upside down in the water. Strange to say, I had never seen her in the water from that angle before. I had seen her inverted of course, but only from a glug glug perspective, not from above. She looked undignified, injured. I hadn't realised just how attached I was to her.


"Give us a hand to pull her up" said the crew. We both put a foot on the upturned gunwale and pulled on the centre board. She came up to 90 degrees easily. He hadn't needed my help at all, I realised, he just wanted me to do something. "Let's get her to the shore". We motored around to the tip of the mast and I helped the crew pull it onto the boat. We motored back to shore with my boat skimming along on its side, with me sitting on the mast. Dave and Ray chatted to each other about the wind and asked me about where I had come from. They dropped me at the slipway, wished me luck and zoomed off to the next rescue.

It was only after a couple of days I thought about what a good job Ray and Dave had done. No dramas, as my Aussie friends say, nothing complicated, just simple, straightforward, honest to goodness help. OK, I didn't go back on the water that day, but how many people did go on to have a good day's sailing because of Ray and Dave?

In one of those strange twists of fate, an email popped up in my mailbox a few days later. The manager of the centre where I sail had heard that we were looking to run the disabled sailor's club an extra day a month in the summer. He couldn't offer us safety boat cover for that session but was willing to offer someone a place on the appropriate training courses for a greatly reduced fee, so we could provide our own cover. The snag was, there were all in the following 3 weeks. I decided to take the plunge and that's why, dear blognaut, I haven't been posting for a week or two.

The first course was a basic powerboat course lasting for two days over a weekend. I turned up not at all apprehensive. I can drive and I can sail. How hard could it be? That was answered when I hit the pontoon with an almighty wack 30 minutes later as I took the helm for the first time. The boats we were on were 14ft dories with outboards. Having never (no, never) handled a twist grip throttle I forgot which way to turn it to let the power off and went the wrong way. I hit it the pontoon so hard they actually had to lift my bow off the tyres lining the pontoon. "Don't worry" said the cheery 16 year old who was in the boat with me "That's what they're there for!".

I gradually got better going forward and coped with the man overboard exercise well, but when it came round to going backwards or turning in a confined space, I began to feel like I had a power learning difficulty (I can sail backwards almost as good as I can sail forwards) as I wacked the pontoon time after time. Thankfully the next day we had a bit of time to practise by ourselves and I managed to cope a bit better. On the assessment I was slow and cautious, but I managed the exercises.

We all had a one to one session at the end of the course. "I'm please to say you've passed" said the instructor "but its a grey pass. We feel you'll struggle on the power boat course". The Brits amongst you will think I show a shocking lack of humility, but I don't do grey passes. I do excellent or at a pinch very good, but certainly not 'grey' passes. The gauntlet was thrown down. The second I got home I ordered the new RYA Safety Boat manual with DVD and immediately started visualising confident, controlled power boat maneouvres. Grey pass? I'll give them grey pass.

My arms had gone completely. Nothing. I could barely grip the ropes on the side of the boat. The coach was trying really hard not to sound desperate but his third call on the VHF for assistance had gone unanswered. He'd tried several times to haul me over the side but I was just too heavy, and too tired to help him.
I wasn't really worried. I mean, this was an inland lake after all. A biggish one, sure, but you could still see all the sides. No more than about 2 minutes fast RIB ride from one end to the other. Soon enough one of the rescue boats would spot us and come and help. No problem. No dramas necessary. No, what was tormenting me was just how much of a prat I felt.
When I started on the Plan I knew I had a lot to do. I knew that in your late forties, early fifties, whilst your endurance doesn't necessarily suffer your strength and flexibility rapidly declines. I knew that if I was going to sail a Laser to a good standard I would have to try and stall the effect of the years with exercise. And I really thought things were going well.
I've been looking forward to this weekend for a long time. The UK Laser Association organises training weekends throughout the year and I've been on several. The Grafham Water training weekend is the only residential one, a chance to spend the whole weekend sailing, sailing a bit more then having a beer or two and talking about sailing. The mix on these weekends is usually good. Youngsters, guys in there twenties and thirties and quite a few my age and with a wide range of skills and abilities and the full range of rigs. The accommodation is a bit basic and if you're unlucky you can end up in dorm with several others, but this year I had managed to get a room to myself with the bathroom right outside the door (the males amongst you in your fifties will know why this is an essential requirement if one is partaking of a beer or two).
I arrived in good time on Saturday and found the wind, as predicted, was creeping up to the low twenties, the top end of my current survival range, so I felt quite excited as I sailed out to the training area having opted for the boat handling 'workshop'.
I was doing OK. Coping with the waves upwind in spite of my lack of experience, loving the reaches and just about surviving downwind. But then the wind crept up just a bit more and the coach set a simple windward - leeward course. I really started to struggle, especially bearing away onto a run. Three times in succession I crashed in to windward with no rolling at all - bang, straight in. But the next few times I got better - bearing off onto a reach first of all, then bearing away more onto the run. On my own I could have done that all day, but with boats all around me I was finding it a strain, especially as the course set was so small I couldn't go by the lee which is my much preferred way of sailing downwind in a blow - I couldn't S curve, there just wasn't enough room with all the boats around. That would have been really good training for a race but by now I was really starting to get tired.
My reaction time must have slowed up considerably because suddenly I was just rolling to windward constantly. On the seventh or eighth capsize she inverted and I had to use all my last remaining energy to get her up. I hung on the side exhausted without the strength to get in the boat. The sail powered up and over she went again. The coach boat came over to help, but now I had nothing left. All around me kids were whooping with joy as the gusts came in and they planed away. Guys older than me looking controlled and easy as they gybed at the leeward mark and went off upwind in perfectly flat boats. And there was I, hanging onto the coach boat wondering how much longer I could hold on for. The Plan suddenly seemed more of a pipe dream than something achievable.
Suddenly it went dark. I looked over my shoulder and the big rescue RIB was above me.
The cox'n called to the coach "Is your engine off?" The reply came back in the affirmative. "Can you swim around to the back" I just about managed to get around "Step onto the propeller case and get in." It was that easy. I transferred into the rescue RIB and they took me and the boat in. Luckily everyone else was ashore and eating lunch which was good as I felt miserable and didn't want to talk to anyone. I decided to call it quits for the day, but even after a half an hour rest I barely had the strength to de-rig the boat. At that point I got a phone call from home where a semi-emergency had presented itself.
So I chickened out of the rest of the weekend and decided to head home. Self-pity isn't one of my normal vices but boy did I have a good wallow on the way back. I've gradually been feeling better and prepared to see the whole episode as something to learn from and if anything I'm even more determined. At least now I know how much I've got to do!

A funny thing happened on the way to the port side..

I've just finished reading Clive Woodward's book about the 2003 Rugby World Cup called "Winning" (Sorry about 2007 lads, you did us all proud). Clive laid out his plan for elite rugby in incredible detail but the basis of his approach to coaching was apparently always 'Coach the basics well'.

This resonated with a something I read in one of Eric Twiname's books where he talks about tacking. It goes something like "A well executed tack is a thing of beauty, but it can also win you a race". So I had a real look at my aims and objectives and realised that my training sessions are not nearly focused enough. They usually are pretty nebulous and go something like "I'll do a little bit of this, some of that, then some more of this" and the whole thing usually goes tits up when I get to the lake and decide the weather isn't advantageous to what I want to do.

So when it became apparent I could grab a couple of afternoons sailing this week I decided to work things out in a bit more detail and be more specific about what I want to achieve. I've read heaps about what makes a good tack but to be honest its hard when nobody is watching you to evaluate a tack properly. I thought about ways I could know myself whether a tack was a good one and decided on the following criteria:

1. Don't lose any speed going through the tack


2. Be bang on the wind when the tack is complete


3. Be ready to tack again the second the last tack is complete

Although I would try to fulfill all the advice I've gleaned from Messrs Tan, Ainslie, Baird etc. my instinct is that, a la Turing test, if it looks and smells like a good tack it will be one, and it will be good if it fulfills the above. I decided one of my goals would be to do 30 consecutive tacks. As I've said before, the lake I sail is small and the wind was blowing 8-12 mph across its narrowest part. The longest string I managed to get in was 10 tacks so I did 3 sets. I tried really hard not to analyse the tack as I went through it but instead just tried to 'feel' it through my body. I didn't judge the tack until it was complete and then just said to myself 'yes' or 'no'.

One thing I've always had difficulty with when tacking is going round far too much. I usually have a quick look over my shoulder to see what general direction I should be pointing in when I come out of the tack, tack then trim up. I usually have to point up considerably, which of course means my sail is over trimmed and stalling as the boat comes flat.

After about tack number 20 as I moved across the boat I was suddenly aware of where the wind was and immediately stopped the turn by centring the rudder, jumping up to the side of the boat and flattening (I can do that since I lost 12 kilos!). Bang on the wind! I though it might be a fluke so immediately tacked again and the same thing happened. The next few were utter disasters - I dropped the sheet (first time this autumn with full fingered gloves on), left it too late to cross and nearly fell out etc. etc. but then did another good one.

I think my new sensitivity was partly gained by a combination of not analysing what I was doing and the successive tacking which combined to give me a 'feel' for what I was trying to do rather than an analysis of it, if that makes any sense! Now for the hard part - making all this work for me in a race.

Faaaaaan Taaaaastic Daaaaaaaay (sing it with me)

About 20 years ago when my kids were still very small I used to do a charity event every year. More often than not it was a half marathon but when I crocked my knees playing rugby and had to give up running (I was useless at it anyway - running that is not rugby. I was almost mediocre at rugby) I started to look around for something different to do. At that time I religiously read one of the quality Sundays and one week an advert appeared for a sponsored static line parachute jump for a charity supporting people with learning difficulties. The deal was you collected £50 worth of sponsorship (which in those days was considered a lot of money) and got to do the parachute jump for free.



So I duly sent in all the forms and eventually trotted off to some backwater off the M4 just the other side of Reading to be confronted with a full on ex Para staff sergeant. At first I hated his (what I thought) cocky attitude and the way he strutted around with his chest out. By the end of the first days training I realised his cockiness was actually confidence and the chest out stance was his way of dealing with a back injury that had taken him out of the service. By the end of the second days training I would have followed him naked into a room full of pissed off, well armed Taliban.



On the day of the jump everything went as it should. Islander 2 engine prop to about 2000 ft, sit on floor edge of doorway looking up and in, "Goooooo", "1000,2000,3000 check!" and there we are, floating nonchalantly toward the ground. They had a PA system giving instructions to the jumpers and at about 100ft off the deck the ground crew were gesticulating madly to me and saying something about Kent Trees. Before I could process this into something meaningful I hit the ground.



I hit the ground so hard I swear my balls went down my trouser leg, bounced on the floor and went back up again. "Ah," I thought to myself, "Bent knees". I had landed with my legs virtually straight. I made a really good show of gathering my parachute and walking to the repack area but I was in agony. Like a fool I didn't go to casualty as I was late for work (I used to work shifts) and just took pain killers for a couple of days.



Eventually the pain virtually went but there was a legacy. My left hip area has been stiff and painful in certain conditions ever since. I really found this out to my cost when sailing in light winds downwind. On starboard gybe I couldn't get my left leg comfortable without twisting my body around and virtually kneeling in the boat. Combine this with a chronic core strength imbalance through years of playing prop forward, which resulted in a real difficulty tacking from starboard to port and it was clear that if I wanted to meet my goals something had to be done.

Someone I worked with did a Pilates class and enough of were interested to get a class going after work twice a week. At first I didn't feel any physical benefit but really appreciated the relaxation side of it. Pilates is a subtle exercise form. You don't really feel you are doing much for much of the session, but our instructor insisted that the small adjustments you make to balance and posture add up in the long term. I've been doing it for 3 years now and I really look forward to the sessions. I also got religious with my stretching as well and now do my stretching set after every workout session.

Sunday was another light day with winds barely getting up to 5. Yet again I made 2 bad starts and ended up well down the fleet but something felt really different going down wind - I was actually comfortable on both sides of the boat and didn't need to twist my body around - I could sit on the side and lean into the boat to get on the centre line, and not have to virtually lie along it. Not only that, I could roll tack the boat just as effectively from starboard to port as well! Normally in these conditions I can't wait to get off the water, but I stayed out an extra hour or so just enjoying the freedom of movement in the boat. Why this should have happened so suddenly I don't know. Maybe the changes have taken place gradually and I haven't noticed so much because we've been lucky and haven't had light conditions so much this summer.

So my message to anyone over 50 is to have faith that your body can change for the good even at this age. It might take a bit longer, it might take a bit more effort but with the right program things will happen!

Fantastic day.

Light air

Spot on with my guess about where the boat was letting in water. Just a hairline crack of about 5 cms but that was enough on the plane to let in all that water. Even more worrying was that when I stuck a screwdriver in to get out any lose stuff, the crack doubled in size really easily. At some stage all that old filler is going to have to come out, but that's a job for next spring/summer.





I used a West system epoxy with some of the white filler in to fill the crack. After rubbing it down today I decided to get out on the water for a bit but the wind had dropped to almost nothing. As is usual at my lake the wind would fill in a bit and then drop so I decided to go out for the race.



Only 7 other boats were on the line so it wasn't going to do my series average any harm even if I just finished. The port side was favoured so I lined up there bang on the line, not wanting to move to far away from the line as its embarrassing when you're a few boat lengths away and the wind drops, leaving you struggling to cross the line when everyone else is away.



I was lined up a bit to bang on and was OCS, so had to go back. I wasn't hugely upset as I could see the windward mark, which was only about 10 boat lengths away, was in a shadow and the middle of the fleet was already caught up around it. I went wide around the bunch and caught a little puff with a clear lane and pulled back 5 places. What is it they say? If you're not OCS occasionally you're not trying hard enough!



But as is the way in these fickle conditions, it didn't take too long to go tits up. I got myself in a nice little hole and then started going backwards. A couple of other tactical errors mainly associated with not reading the shifts (as far as they are readable) left me going backwards even further, so I ended up with precisely my bottom line - 8Th!

I've really decided to throw myself into a weight loss campaign before Christmas so I have a new mantra: 10k in 10 weeks. The first week was good but this week has been difficult and I've learnt something really interesting. I've been feeling really tired and listless and I've found it even more difficult than usual to do my morning training sessions. However, looking back at my nutrition profiles for the last few days I found that I really overdid protein at the weekend (went over to my dad's to watch the Rugby World Cup quarter final. He lives with my sister and they are all real carnivores!) at the expense of a lot of carbohydrate. As the week's gone on and I've been eating my usual 55-60% I've started to feel better. I thought that as I wasn't full on training, imbalances such as this one wouldn't have much effect, but now I'm not so sure. Of course, there might be other reasons for my lack of oomph but this looks to be the root of the problem.

A whole weekend on the water to look forward to - Disabled sailor's club on Saturday and a Thames Valley Grand Prix event at Burghfield on Sunday. Better make sure I get some extra carbs in before Saturday!

Not Fast

1. Falling in on the start line

Club race on Sunday, lined up perfectly all set to go, as I sheet in a huge gust blows in down the line and backs the sail. My arse delicately kisses the water and I'm on that awfully poised point where I'm not going in but not going to get back in the damn boat either. Only option is to let go and fall in. Back in the boat quick and off like a whippet but well at the back of the fleet.



2. Boat full of water Again!

A-bloody-gain! For the third time this year I need a truck to haul the boat up the slipway because the hull is full of water. I haven't had a proper look yet but I'll bet my carbon tiller extension its the join between the deck and the hull, just where it sits on the trolley. Looking closely I can see now that the gunnel supports on the trolley aren't sitting right inside the lip of the hull. I'll now be praying to the weather gods that the temperature doesn't drop too much before the weekend and it stays dry, so I can epoxy it. Oh, and pass me the sledge hammer, I'm going to fix the gunnel problem for good!



3. Sitting in dirty air downwind

Our fleet being a handicap fleet, and our courses involving a tour round the lake resembling the London Tube Map, means that if you don't get in front you're being blanketed by half a dozen sails bigger than yours. Or, you're stuck in amongst the trailing pack and can't get out because even if you stick your nose out in front, you'll be blanketed after the next windward mark by all the boats behind you.

Fast

1. Not losing your head and blaming it on everthing else

Its true, Michael Blackburn is God. And for a pom to say that about an Aussie is pretty much tantamount to treason, but if you want to know why go check out his Sailing Mind Skills material. I've been listening to the stuff for a couple of months now and it has really helped me to maintain focus when racing. Instead of sitting at the back of the fleet cursing my bad luck I started to plan my way back to the front. So instead of sitting in the dirty air downwind I started...



2. Sailing by the lee

I just decided I needed to something to get away from the pack so instead of joining the procession on a dead run up to the mark I sailed down and by the lee. When the gusts hit I really took off and pulled back a shed load of places, broad reaching into the mark then...

3. A smooth gybe onto the reach

I've said it before and I'll say it again, the person who loses least boat speed around the marks is half way there on a small course. Healing as the boom came over then squeezing it back flat helped me get straight onto a plane and pick up another shed load of places before hardening up at the next mark and...



4. Tacking on the headers

In oscillating winds on a puddle you have to be absolutely sure a shift is a shift, especially when its getting to you via overhead power cables which are stretched across the lake. Instead of tacking as soon as my sail flapped I had the confidence to hang on for a few seconds to make sure it was a header then tacking, and this lifted me clear of the pack and chasing the leaders.



So I ended up crossing the line in 5th place. The inevitable handicap lottery dragged me down a few more places but, hey, you have to beat them on the water first!



Now, where's my epoxy kit and the sledge hammer?

Sailing Away

Part of my plan this year is to get away from my home water and sail in some different places and against different people, in the hope that you learn different things being beaten by different people!

Every year the regions of the UK Laser Association hold Grand Prix series. This year I've opted for the Thames Valley series, although with my handy West London location I could do the Eastern or Southern series.

I did two events in the early part of the season and for all sorts of reasons haven't been able to do any more, but I'm determined to do enough to qualify so I have to get in four more out of the five left. So it was off to Frensham Pond in Surrey on Sunday.

My objectives for the day were

1. Enjoy myself

2. Not to come last

3. Get at least one good start

4. Not to be overtaken by a bloody Radial sailor.



I love my sat nav. Even though it doesn't recognise Postcodes, it takes all the hard work out of finding your way into the back of beyond, or Farnham as its known in Surrey, and lets you get to the venue relatively stress free. The M25 and M3 behaved themselves and after winding up and down some quiet country roads I was waiting at the gate for the club to open at 9.00 pm. As chance would have it, the only other early arrival was someone from my own club and we chatted things sailing until the club secretary came along to open up. The road up to the club was narrow and I was pointing the wrong way and I joked that reversing with a trailer wasn't my strong point, at which the guy unhitched my boat and wheeled around to the launch area for me while I turned around. Top marks for helpfulness from Frensham Pond.



The lake is about three times the size of my home water and much more regular in shape. Tree lined (hard not to find a puddle which isn't) with a steep (for Surrey) hill at the South East corner. However, the wind coming from the South West was pretty constant in direction with only the South East corner of the lake subject to some odd wind shifts. The sky was blue with white clouds fluffing across frequently and when the sun came out it was warm, so all in all a fabulous day for sailing.


The wind picked up considerably during registration and was averaging about 10mph with some 20mph gusts coming down periodically when we got out to the start area for the first race. At my home club where each end of the start line is always on land, the favoured technique is to reach up and down the line aiming to time arrival at the favoured end on the gun and tacking. I tend to back my boat handling skills and wait at the favoured end, short tacking and gybing until about a minute before the gun then getting in position and wait on starboard ready to sheet in and go. Its generally a good strategy and I'm usually at the front of the fleet at the first mark, which, due to the shape of the lake, and the fact that committee boats are never used, is rarely more than about 20 boat lengths and often much less.


Here, no one was reaching down the line and the approach to the line was much more tactical, with boats vying for position 3 minutes out. I managed to get right on the committee boat although there wasn't really a favoured end and with 20 secs to go looked around and noticed I was the only one on the line. I hadn't noticed that there had been a problem with the starting horn and the postponement flag was up! I tried to look as though I was casually practising my starts but I don't think anyone was convinced.



At the actual start I was again well up at the committee boat end and got off to a good start but couldn't pop out from the front. This is a real weak spot in my sailing - whether because of my weight or bad technique, I can't boost a good position on the start line with good speed. On my home water where a lot of starts are poorly timed I get away with it, but here where all the boats are on the line and going in the same direction, within a few seconds of the start I'm sitting in the lee bows of 20 other boats and going backward.



My two other starts were much the same, although I did get told off in one start for barging. Well, there was a gap there and I went for it, it would have been rude not to! I was last on the water for one race, but not last overall because the gusts defeated some of the lighter sailors and there were four retirements. I went over a couple of times but frustratingly it was due to error on my part - sitting on the mainsheet for one and managing to wrap it around the tiller when it was around my back for the second.

I only got caught by a Radial sailor in the second race which was disappointing as their start was 5 minutes after the standard start. Just to rub it in, my overtaker was a teenage girl, gliding past me just before I went over the line. She went on to win the Radial event so suppose I shouldn't complain.



By the end of the third race I had cramp in both my forearms and I was struggling to keep the boat flat upwind. However, I felt very confident downwind on the runs and didn't lose any ground at all to the helms in front. Reaching was a different matter. Steve Cockerill says heavier sailors should get back as far as possible but not dig the transom in, but be prepared to react quickly to the wind when it drops and get back forward again. My timing is right out and I think I was getting back to far. How envious I was of the guys at the front of the fleet who crossed me as I was going downwind, hiked out on their toestraps, boat flat and hull barely touching the water, and managing to keep it on the plane virtually from mark to mark. It was worth going just to see that.



So reaching 3 out of 4 objectives isn't bad at all and I'm really looking forward to the next one. In between I'll be practising accelerating up to full speed from the gun!

Fun

I spend a lot of time watching kids. I work with them anyway, but at the lake I like to just sit back sometimes and watch the way they do things.



It seems that until a person gets to aged 16 or so their main objective as soon as an adults back is turned is to break what ever they have. However, the closer you look, the more you realise that they're not doing it on purpose, they just seem to have an innate drive to find as many different ways of interacting, for want of a better word, with an object as possible.



Take yesterday for example. Four kids, one about 17 the others 13 maybe 14 were sailing the club's RS Vision around the lake. It was blowing about 8 or 9 mph from the NW so not exactly a hoolie but they all had trap harnesses on. After a while I noticed that they didn't actually have the spinnaker kit with them. The principle intention seemed to be for 3 of them to heel the boat and balance it so that the fourth could swing out as far as possible on the trap then tarzan his or her way back in again. They kept it up for hours.



I was mainly at the lake to help out with our club for disabled sailors. We have a couple of Challenger trimarans and 4 Access dinghies. Access dinghies are strange little boats which have a fuck-off big steel plate for a centreboard, and are actually bath shaped and sized keel boats. They have an unstayed fore mast which holds a jib, and a mainsail. You steer by using a centrally mounted joystick which moves the rudder by a pulley system. A lot of the disabled sailors can find there own way around the lake but the more challenged need someone with them, so me and a few others go out with them and let them have as much control as they want.



Lewis, for example, wants to crash into things with a big a bump as possible, preferably something containing something that will scream. I can usually get away with just ramming the floating pontoons, but if there is a group doing water activities we wait until they've built the obligatory raft and are paddling it across the lake, then go and splash them. They generally splash back to Lewis's delight and when I try to steer away he wrestles me with all his might to get back over to them. I don't think his mum likes him getting too wet, so I insist which sometimes takes a while because he's very strong.



Its difficult to know what Jeff wants as he has almost no language other than to shout "Boot" (apparently he first sailed with a Geordie) as loud as he can and slap his face with both hands with alarming force. But his carers know him really well and they say he loves every minute of it. Keble is blind and basically just needs someone to tell him when he's about to hit something. He likes to have a commentary about what is happening around the lake.



Sometimes when every one's had enough sailing I jump in one of the Access dinghies and just swan around the lake, trying to get a sense of where the wind is coming from by feel alone (they don't have burgees or tell-tales). It was during one of these outings I saw the kids in the Vision. I decided I'd have a muck around as well and started to try and roll tack the Access and, when it heeled, tried to hike it back again by sitting out on the side and hooking my leg around the console. I haven't had so much fun in ages.


How is it we lose the playfulness that all kids have? It doesn't seem to be a natural imperative of age as I know that when I'm working with my 3 and 4 year olds (I'm a nursery teacher) I don't find it difficult at all to drop into their mode of operating. I'm convinced that the mechanism of play is the most efficient and effective way for finding out about the world you live in. Yet, when I'm practising in my Laser I never do the kinds of things I see the youngsters do in a dinghy.

I think that our school systems are so looked into a Socratic, didactic method of teaching, efficient for transmitting facts or skills to a large group of learners, that we've lost sight of what it really means to know something. Those kids on the Vision really know that boat, they really know what it feels like to be on a wire, something they couldn't possibly learn in a classroom or from a coach. Of course classrooms and coaches are necessary and important, but they're not the be all or end all.

Anyone got any ideas for fun things to do in a Laser?

Grin to win

Its true in sport as in life that nothing worth having ever comes easy. Its also true to say that if you set yourself a goal to win competitions, then you need confidence and confidence only comes through success.

I'm not having much success recently. Although all my on the water training is going really well, I'm having real problems turning them into success. Take today for example. A club series race, mixed handicap with about 20 boats on the line. 5 or 6 Lasers, a Buzz, a Laser Vortex, 3 or 4 Lightning 368s, 2 or 3 Enterprises, an RS300 and a few others. The start line is made more complicated by a pontoon moored a third of the way along. There's another one half way up the first beat, which given that the lake is only about forty acres, and L shaped, is only about 15 boat lengths. Today the wind is from the West which means it can, and usually does, come from SW or NW and occasionally both at the same time. The lake is tree lined and surrounded by low hills which also means that the wind can gust in at 20 mph and just as quickly drop to virtually nothing. 3 or 4 times in a minute.

I have a choice whether to got out through the small gap between the pontoon and the point on the starboard side of the line, or go for a virtually straight run to the first mark from the port end. But at that end there's a 10 metre railway embankment and the wind can do some really funny things. I've been caught out there before. I decide the starboard end gap is too risky and I opt for a start half way down on starboard tack in clear air and hope I can get up to speed quickly, using the starboard advantage on the port tackers. But, in this case the conservative start doesn't pay off. I'm at the line doing full speed at the gun heading to cause mayhem and havoc to about 3/4 of those on port tack, but then they are all lifted by a big gust and I have to tack, then tack again to miss the pontoon. By the time I get to the first mark I'm well down the fleet.


For those of you who haven't sailed on small inland lakes there are two golden rules. Start in front then get round the marks smoothly - on a small lake such as ours there are usually about 6 marks to go around 3 times (or more) each. Lose a half a boat length on each on the boats in front and - well, you do the maths.


Conversely, taking a mark really well means you can pull back untold places in one hit. On a small lake there are much more exaggerated changes in direction, so you have the chance to get out of the dirty air of those around you and catch a gust or shift which will be long gone by the time those behind you get there. Its the second lap and I'm still well down the fleet, but, apart from the leaders, we're all sitting in each others dirty air and there's not much between us. Mark no 4 is a close reach to a beat and I notice that a lot of the boats in front of me are taking it wide to miss the congestion. I notice that by the time I arrive there will be a boat width gap so I go in wide and come out perfect, sheeting in block to block and hike just as a gust hits, zooming me out and away from the congestion. I pick up 6 places in as many boat lengths and as I tack back for the next mark to bank my lead I'm at least 10 boat lengths ahead, barely able to conceal the huge grin on my face.


But that's the end of the story. Eric Twiname says a sailboat race is like walking up an elevator the wrong way. Its the mistakes that allow those behind to catch up with you. Those who sail without mistakes whilst in front, stay the same distance apart from those behind, but they stay in front. I can't make any more progress on the boats in front and a couple of silly mistakes means two or three of those boats I got past gradually get up to me then past me.


So those are the thoughts I'm going to hang onto. Learn to react quickly to shifts and control the boat so you don't have to make conservative starts. Work on those mark roundings so every one is as sweet as No 4 today. Hopefully I'll be grinning more often.

The Final(?) Plan

So here's what I intend to do.

One of my goals for this year is taking care of my weight. Apparently the optimum weight for a top Laser sailor is 84kg and they are usually a bit taller than me. I want to get down to 85kg which is at the top end of the weight range for my my height (1.78m) but I am pretty broad shouldered. I'm already down to 94kg but its been hard. When you've been a fat bastard pretty much all of your life and really enjoy your food, the grams don't come off easily. Thankfully, I've found a really good online diet site at WeightLossResources.com.

I used to think that only a moron counted every calorie but now I realise that my internal systems for saying 'enough' are pretty much non-existent. The beauty of WeightLossResources is that it actually works out your fuel needs by adding in your daily activity level together with the exercise you've taken, then gives you a daily calorie 'budget' based on what your goal is for losing weight. Mine is 0.5kg a week. You then enter your food intake using the huge database. You can even enter your own recipes. Most importantly, it gives you a breakdown of the food groups you are consuming, together with an ideal food group profile. I like to eat a slightly larger percentage of carbohydrates as all my reading suggests that slightly higher carbs are necessary if you're doing a lot of exercise.

My second goal for this year is to improve my strength and fitness. I do a lot of cycling anyway and the last of dad's money has gone on a decent rowing machine and a small set of weights. The main problem here, as ever, is time. I have a limited amount of time to spend in the week to exercise and the weekend I try to spend as much time on the water as I can. My solution has been to get up at 5.00 am and exercise before I leave for work at 7.30. The principal stumbling block with this is metabolism. I just can't get myself going this time in the morning so the main reason for getting up that early is to ease into it gently. I have breakfast straightaway then sit and have a hot drink for 45 minutes to an hour. I'm trying to alternate weights with rowing machine. Originally I only had one rest day in the week but I kept getting injured, so now I have two.



My weight training programme is limited by what I can do with my little set of dumbells (total weight 35kg) and the hour or so available, so I'm starting up with one or two exercises for each main muscle group. I'm still experimenting with the exercises. On the rowing machine I do a 40 minute interval training session (I prefer the marvelous Finnish word 'Fartlek') based on percentage of maximum heart rate. I finish the session, rowing or weight training, with stretches. I also do a Pilates class and a body conditioning workout once a week. Oh, and February to October I cycle two or three times a week as well.


As far as on the water training goes, I've signed up for some of the excellent UKLA regional training courses. I went on a couple last year and learnt a lot, almost too much. That's the problem with my age, I take longer to process information, so I'm going back for refreshers! If you're in the UK and you're serious about improving your Laser sailing, go to www.laser.org.uk and look up the events section. You'll have to join UKLA to participate but its well worth the money - you get a decent discount off boat insurance too.

Also on this site is a comprehensive list of Laser racing events. I was staggered at the amount of Laser racing that goes on. Each of the regions runs a Grand Prix with about a dozen meetings which are a good notch up from club racing. I've done a couple of Thames Valley GP events this year and I'm aiming to do enough in the Autumn to qualify for an overall score.

Over the next 4 years I'm going to gradually build up the level of events I compete in, aiming to do national and European events before 2012. Not the least of my problems is going to be finding enough time to sail in the sea as its a pretty foregone conclusion that that's the kind of venue the 2012 worlds will be held on. I live about 60 odd miles from the nearest ocean which isn't a lot compared to what other people in the world have to contend with, I know, but the logistics at the moment are a bit daunting for me.

So that's the outline plan. You'll be able to read here how I get on with it. The highs, the lows, the successes, the failures. Wish me luck!

The Plan (Part 4)

I can't emphasise too much how disappointed I was at the cancellation of the Arctic trip. I hadn't fallen out of love with sailing and I was engaging in club racing with relish, but for some reason the bigger boats seemed to have less pull on me. I spent a month of disappointment, then a further month sulking. Then fate intervened.

In the boat park at the lake where I race there was a boat, a Laser, which was something of a legend. The cover was decrepit and green with mould but the boat underneath was clearly in very good condition. It hadn't been moved from its space in an age. The sticker denoting that boat parking fees had been paid was always up to date, but no-one at the club had ever seen it on the water. No-one knew who owned it except for the manager, and he was keeping schtum. Half a dozen people had made enquiries about it, but there was never a reply. One sunny day in July I was walking through the boat park when I saw the boat had its cover off.

It was a typical Laser with the purple colour scheme from the 90s, but I saw immediately that although in a grubby state there was hardly a knock on it anywhere. As I gave it a further once over, a man struggled up with a bucket of water and a scrubbing brush. I asked him if he was planning on getting it back on the water. "I was thinking of selling it actually. How much do you think it would fetch". The guy had bought if for himself as a 40th birthday present, sailed it for a season then lost interest. He'd always meant to take it up again but, you know. That was almost 15 years ago. I gave him, I swear, what I thought was an honest estimate (£1200) and his eyes lit up. I wished him good luck and turned towards the club boats, but as I walked away it seemed every step was getting harder and harder, like I was attached to that boat by a length of bungee.

I walked back to the guy now busily scrubbing away at the boat. "Hey" I said, "If you're happy with £1200 I'll give you a cheque for it now". The guy thought about it for all of 2 seconds, then held his hand out. "Done". We shook hands on it. "Do you want me to carry on cleaning it?" I really didn't want him to have the opportunity to think about it any longer than necessary, because where he'd scrubbed the boat it looked almost new, and I was starting to think that maybe £1200 was a little under priced. "Nah" I said "Just stick the cover back on it".

So the deal was done to everyone's satisfaction. Maybe he got a price a couple of hundred under what it was worth, maybe not, but I'm certain he walked out of that boat park a much happier man than when he walked in. Mrs SteerRollDash was a bit put out that I'd joined the boat owning fraternity without consulting her, but was more than relieved when I explained it was a dinghy rather than the cruiser she had been expecting me to buy for over a year.

The following week a trip up to the Laser Centre at Long Buckby saw me laden with go faster goodies and a weekend's work saw my new prize scrubbed til the gelcoat shone and kitted out with a complete XD overhaul. She looked the dog's bollocks. My race results started picking up immediately. Although the club boats were safe and serviceable they weren't competitive for whatever reason. I immediately noticed that my new ride floated perceptibly higher on the water than them, even though they were dry. Then after a couple of months I won a Bank Holiday race on the water and came second in the Autumn Laser regatta. The fact that a lot of the good sailors at the club weren't there didn't matter to me as I beat a lot of people I would normally have expected to be behind.

Gradually I forgot about the disappointment of the previous few months. My naturally competitive personality kicked into hyper drive and I really got into sailing the boat faster. However, it was obvious that although I had the enthusiasm of a 20 year old, my 50 year old body was lagging way behind. I was way overweight for a Laser at 104kg and still carrying injuries from rugby and a one off parachute jump for charity that went a bit wrong (I'll tell that tale another day). I started trying to lose weight, get fitter, spend as much time on the water as I could and read everything I could find about sailing, but trying to fit all this in with a busy work load was demanding to say the least.

I needed to be more methodical about what I was training for. I needed a goal. And then it was announced that, against the odds, London would host the 2012 Olympics. Over the following few days as the details were announced and I thought about how all our Olympic sailing hopefuls would feel about competing on their own water, I wished that I was young enough and talented enough to be part of it. Then I thought "You need a goal. Why not have your own Olympics in 2012?"

I immediately fizzed with the idea. I could never compete at Olympic level, but I could compete in an Olympic class, the standard Laser, and, such is the breadth of Laser competition, there are loads of opportunities to compete internationally and in some cases against those who have reached Olympic or near Olympic standards. Why not aim high!

My goals are now clear and the final Plan is taking shape. I will aim to compete in the Laser Masters Worlds in 2012, wherever they are held. A big ask. And, I will aim to finish up in the top half of the fleet. A massive ask.

Wish me luck.

The Plan (Part 3)

It was during dinner the first evening on Sark that The Skipper told us of his intention to return to the Arctic circle the next summer. He had talked a company into making it a commercial venture and his tales of whales and seals and Innuit had me hooked. The venture would last for seven weeks. The trip would take place over the limited Arctic summer in late July and August, to enable us to penetrate Scoresbysund in Greenland up to the Innuit village of Ittoqortoormit.

Being a teacher, I get late July and August off. My dad had recently given me some money - not a fortune, but enough to more than cover the trip. Mrs SteerRollDash wouldn't contemplate going herself but saw how eager I was to go. At the Southampton Boat Show I negotiated a 20% discount for booking all seven weeks of the trip with the the company and from that moment my life revolved around what would be happening the following summer.

After paying the initial deposit, I still had enough money to go on 'mile-building' weekends with the company organising the trip. I spent several weekends trolling around the Solent and across the channel, diving down to Porsmouth straight after work on a Friday and returning to London late on a Sunday. I really loved the life on board and began planning my next weekend almost as soon as I left the previous one.

However, by March the following year I still hadn't had any more details about the trip. A phone call to the company reassured me that, yes, it was still going ahead, there were just some details to finalise. By Whitsun I still hadn't heard anymore and was now decidedly nervous. We had gone away for a week down to Lyme Regis with my dad and I was standing in the graveyard of the church on Gun Cliff when I got a phone call from the company. Two of the people who had provisionally booked had pulled out citing inability to get the time off. It was no longer viable so they had reluctantly made the decision to call it off. Sorry. I have never been so disappointed about anything in my life. This was going to be my future. My great adventure, my gap year squeezed into seven weeks, my Yachtmaster miles that would open the door to other things for me. And there it was, in the words of the old comedian, gone. The last nine months of dreaming and scheming and planning were buried in the graveyard at Lyme Regis.

I didn't lose interest in sailing the bigger boats but the disappointment was such that for a while that I couldn't face getting on one. I knew that I would be saying to myself 'what if' all the time I was aboard. I carried on dinghy sailing at the club and then events conspired to fundamentally change The Plan.

The Plan (Part 2)

At first sight I wasn’t too enamoured of The Boat, a Jeanneau Melody. The hull was a bit grubby, the teak decking had seen better days, and the rigging looked a bit tired. I caught site of a man sitting in the cockpit, who had the look of someone who felt his eyes were a bit too large for his head.
“Are you The Skipper?” I asked
“I’m one of them”
“I’m The Skipper you’re looking for” said a voice from down below and out into the sunshine stepped a tall, ramrod straight man in his fifties with the bluest eyes I have ever seen. The Skipper was an ex-Coldstream Guardsmen with more sailing mileage in his log than all the cars I’ve ever owned had miles on the clock. We exchanged pleasantries while The Skipper no. 2 (who turned out to be the delivery crew – The Boat’s home port is Southampton), held his head and moaned ever so gently. The Skipper grinned hugely
“We got in yesterday evening and went out for a couple of beers”
The Skipper no. 2 looked up, almost with contempt
“Whatever you do, don’t ever go out with this man for ‘a couple of beers’.
At about this time The Shipmates hauled up to the boat and we began another round of pleasantry exchanging,.

Time and tide wait for no man or Comp Crew/Day Skipper candidate and so The Skipper no. 2 reluctantly made his way for the ferry back to Portsmouth, and we got our gear stowed.

Down below, The Boat still failed to impress. Everything looked well used but at least it was clean and tidy, and the plaques on the bulkhead commemorating participation in three Fastnet races in the early 90s were reassuring. Mrs SteerRollDash and I were allocated the forward cabin and went to make our selves familiar with what was to be our home for the next week.

After stowing our gear The Skipper got us to talk about our sailing experience and goals. To my surprise he didn’t pooh-pooh my stated intention of one day sailing single handed across the Atlantic, but instead seemed enthusiastic about it. It was my first experience of his ‘go for it’ attitude, which I later would find tempered by a cast iron commitment to getting the basics right and an uncompromising attitude to the practise of good seamanship.

I used to use the term ‘steep learning curve’ freely once upon a time, but after those first few days entering and leaving ports and trying to put the theory I’d learnt on a flat, spacious, not pitching or rolling table at night school into practice together with learning about how to handle a boat, I’m now a bit more circumspect about the phrase. I also learned that although The Boat might not be pristine she was dry and functional.

Although there wasn’t much of a sea, Mrs SteerRollDash, after an encouraging start, began to feel queasy especially down below and by the end of the first day felt decidedly sea sick. Our first night in Alderney didn’t help as there was a slight swell in Braye harbour which meant there was no respite for Mrs SteerRollDash even when we stopped. A brief run ashore did pick her up a bit and she managed to pass the night comfortably.
Mrs SteerRollDash started to feel better over the next few days but never escaped the queasiness while underway.

I didn’t really know what to expect from The Channel Islands. My mental picture was constructed with the help of World War 2 television dramas and some anecdotes from people I know who had been there. I wasn’t prepared for the parade of absolute delight that unfolded over that week.

After an overnight stay in Alderney we made our way on to St Peter Port. Confronted by the huge number of boats waiting to get into Victoria Marina, I was sure that we would end up tied up outside, but (in no time at all it seemed) the Harbour Master Staff had us all rafted up safely inside safely and good humouredly. Even four deep on both sides of the visitors pontoons, there was no problems with power or water supplies.

It was here I had my first experience of the warm camaraderie of sailors. Fore and aft and next to us we had Dutch, Germans, Belgians and other Brits. Within a few minutes of rafting up details about homeports were exchanged together with snippets of information about the weather. One Dutch Beneteau owner found out from a British Beneteau owner where he could get a replacement part for his rigging in Poole, the Dutchman’s next port of call.

After freshening up, The Skipper went exploring in St Peter Port and we set foot on shores once again dominated by the motor car, but soon found a decent pub to hide from them, The Albion, which is also the closest to the marina had a great range of real ales and we settled down to a pleasant evening. When The Skipper strolled in and joined us a little later and we chatted about our experiences of the previous few days, I noticed a subtle change taking place. Any veteran of residential courses knows that feeling when the barriers have been broken down and the delegates begin to gel. This was different however. The very real stresses and strains of navigating a boat through (for us) some challenging circumstances had started to turn us into something else – we were becoming a crew.

Just when I thought I was getting the hang of the Channel Islands, our next stop completely exceeded my expectations. The spectacular majesty of Havre Gosselin at Sark begins to look imposing from even a mile out, but picking up a mooring with the sound echoing from the rocks around is just awesome. As we moored I noticed several inflatables dangling 30 feet above the water by their mooring ropes and enquired why they were tied up like that.
“When the owners got out of them” said The Skipper “They were still floating”. I began to realise just what ‘some of the biggest tidal ranges in the world’ actually meant.

We spent a glorious day at Sark, which culminated in an arduous, but worthwhile slog up the cliff path to see The Boat and the other moored boats on a sparkling sea framed by the hard, high brown rocks of the cliffs. Sark itself was so quiet – even quieter than Alderney, which I would not have believed possible two days earlier. We settled down for a drink in one of the two pubs when, with amazing speed (by my city boy standards), the fog rolled in. The journey back to The Boat was, well, downright scary (mental note – one small torch is not enough to get two people down a steep path in the dark and fog). However, the pull back to The Boat in the inflatable made it all worthwhile. Each pull of the oar made the water surface explode into blue and white sparks – my first encounter with phosphorescence. Back on board I spent several minutes with the boathook tracing fiery patterns in the water, like the bonfire night sparklers when I was a boy. That night the sea was only very slight, and I was rocked slowly and gently to sleep. It was surely one of the best ends to one of the best days of my life.

The next stop was St. Helier in Jersey. I didn’t like St. Helier at all. The entry to the harbour and the rafting process was not nearly as well managed as St. Peter Port, with a very officious man barking orders at yachts as they came up to the visitor’s berth. His approach to dealing with questions thrown up by the various language barriers was typically British – he just shouted the last instruction even louder. The bad temperedness rubbed off on some of the visitors, and for the first time we saw disputes and arguments on the pontoons, mostly over the inadequate onshore power facilities.

The town of St Helier itself was too much like the towns I am used to. There were cars racing around with little regard for pedestrians, little groups of teenagers congregating in any place that offered an unspoilt view of other little groups of teenagers. I wasn’t sorry that we planned to be out the next morning.

As we made our way toward the harbour entrance, the wind picked up even more. The Skipper grinned.
“The harbour master’s going to love me for this. Turn the engine off, we’re going to sail out”
We got plenty of tacking practice over the next 25 minutes as we beat up to the harbour entrance, sometimes missing the walls by a matter of a few feet. As our last tack took us cleanly out of the harbour entrance there were one or two approving nods from some of the spectators who had been watching us. I put on my salty sea dog face.

I had been given the job of passage planning for the whole day and thankfully managed to find my way along the south of Jersey, turning northwards through Les Arquettes without incident. Our next port was Cartaret but we couldn’t get across the sill before 10 pm, so we had decided to stop at Les Ecrehou for dinner. As we approached to what amounts to a collection of rocks with the odd house built on, the clouds that had dogged us during the day lifted and this delightful place was shown to its best advantage, with golden, sandy beaches as smooth as a supermodel’s bum, almost Caribbean in appearance. However, we had arrived at just on low tide and, one by one, the jagged rocks disappeared with the flood, leaving just a few to penetrate the surface. We realised just why it is that this place is recommended as being treated with caution.

As we set off for Cartaret, within an hour the wind had dropped again. As we reluctantly turned the engine on, the last of the sun dropped below the horizon and almost simultaneously fog dropped on top of The Boat. My passage plan was now largely redundant but with use of the depth sounder, radar and GPS we hit Cartaret on the nose. By the time we had found a place in the marina and tidied the boat it was gone 11 and we were all gasping for a drink.

The yacht club at Barneville-Cartaret is a modern construction, with a large bar built on top of the usual amenities. As The Skipper sprinted up the steps, Bernadette, the proprietor was about to shut the door.
“I’m sorry, we are closing!”

“But we’re dying for a drink!” said The Skipper. Bernadette looked us over.
“Well, I’m not a doctor, so you’d better come in for a pint” Bernadette had lived in the UK and her English was faultless. She kept the bar open for us for another two hours and laughed and chatted with us. There was a decidedly different feel to our conversation now. The experience in the fog, although not seriously dangerous was anxious enough to change our perceptions of life afloat, and working together to ensure each other’s safety had worked a subtle change. Mike especially had come out of himself a bit and was animated and articulated about the day’s passage. Now we definitely were a crew and conversation about home and mortgages, work and children had changed to boats and harbours, weather and wind and the next port of call.

As the tide to get out of the marina wouldn’t be right until late in the evening, we spent the whole of the next day in Cartaret. Our first port of call was the café on the old quayside. We ordered drinks and The Skipper joined us for a coffee. The Skipper told us about how he got into sailing and shared some anecdotes from his huge experience, some of which had us laughing until our jaws ached.

The weather was fine and we explored this small town looking for provisions and other supplies, which was difficult for me, as I had twisted my knee and although it was easy enough moving around the boat, any distance walking was decidedly painful. However, I felt I owed it to Mrs SteerRollDash to go ashore for a bit.

For the most part the French were very welcoming, but the attitude of some of the shopkeepers was a bit disappointing. We seemed to be almost an intrusion on their social lives. The French custom of closing for 2 hours for lunch seems odd to us, used to the 24-hour city life. However, as we got more experience of the French attitude to food and eating (the market at Cherbourg on Saturday was a food lover’s delight) we became huge converts.

That evening saw us out of Cartaret night sailing for Dielette. The wind had just about got up enough for us to motor sail and for a brief period was strong enough to enable us to turn that damned engine off. The sound of just the wind and the water and the constant look out for lights to navigate by was yet another new experience. Dielette, however, was disappointing to say the least. We arrived at dark into a gloomy concrete basin surrounded by hills. Light didn’t improve the prospect any. The hills had very few relieving features and the concrete looked even more grey and uninviting. The marina complex was being re-developed and, although they had made efforts to make it look pretty, the facilities were poor. There was a steady stream of disaffected people coming out of the shower block, grumbling, soon to be followed by me and Mrs SteerRollDash. The coin machine controlling the shower only accepted the sum of €2.37 a really stupid amount as the machine didn’t give change and therefore required at least 5 different coins to operate it. The showers themselves were smelly and there was litter on the floor.

We weren’t sorry to leave Diellette, even though the next port of call was the return to Cherbourg.

For almost the first time that week the wind blew a steady F4 and we hitched a ride on the Alderney Race around to Cherbourg, an exhilarating sail which left me desperate for more. Thankfully the Stugeron was doing its stuff and even Mrs SteerRollDash enjoyed the fine days sailing. We found a berth in the marina quickly and made plans to go out that evening for our last meal together.

Its incredible to me, used to takeaways, pizza and chip shops that even the yacht club at Cherbourg took food seriously. There wasn’t any compromise on quality as far as I could see and the meal I had was comparable to the best dinner’s I’d eaten locally at home, for about two thirds the price.

The week came to an end on the terrace bar of the Yacht club, the sun sinking low and the beers sinking lower. We said goodbye to The Shipmates, and then Mrs SteerRollDash and I toddled off to catch the ferry home.

The Plan (Part 1)

I came to sailing late in life. I've always been interested in sailing but people from my background don't get into sailing. The average working class boy growing up in West London is usually a football fanatic who follows cricket in summer.

As it happens, I was absolutely useless at sport being overweight and not a naturally athletic person. At that time in the Sixties being useless at football automatically put you in the category of second class person. Always last to be chosen in the 'pick-ups'. Largely ignored on the pitch, even though I used to try really hard.

Thanks to a really good PE teacher in High School, I learned that being useless at sport didn't necessarily imply you couldn't enjoy it. It was the competition that mattered and I found that I was very competitive. In my early twenties I got into Rugby (late for starting Rugby, but that's the story of my life), a game much more suited to my physique. I loved playing and it broke my heart when I had to give it up thanks to a combination of injury and a part-time degree course which gradually ate up more and more of my time (I got a first, so ultimately it was worth it).

It was the America's cup series of the late 70s and early 80s that awakened my interest in sailing. I had always been attracted to big boats ever since I was small and even the pathetic TV coverage of the time (it hasn't got much better) really touched off something inside of me. I had an abortive attempt to get into it in the 90s when my two sons were little, but the time wasn't right and after some initial dinghy sailing I couldn't make the jump into big boats, the sailing I was only really interested in at the time.

So I get to my mid forties and a certain Ellen Macarthur bursts onto the scene. Someone bought me 'Taking on the World' and after reading it I was fired up. If this slip of a girl from Derbyshire could achieve all this, I had no excuse for not trying. The initial plan was to start sailing in Dinghies then move onto the big boats through RYA courses and mile-building packages, hopefully ending up with my own boat one day.

And the plan was a good one. I joined a club sailing on a gravel pit not too far from where I lived. Intitially, the club struck me as being a bit cliquey but I persisted and got to know everyone a bit better and started to really enjoy sailing there, especially enjoying the racing. I started doing evening classes in navigation and, through a trip to the Southampton Boat Show, hooked up with a small company offering sailing weekends and cruises.

My partner and I booked up for fortnight's cruise around the Channel Islands. After this experience, I was really hooked.