Friday, March 29, 2024

FROM THE RIDGE: Win or lose, at least try it

Avatar photo
I write this on the evening we are all basking in the reflected glory of Kiwis once again batting outside their league and winning the America’s Cup. Not that the great majority of us had anything to do with it other than involuntarily having contributed some tax money to the project, it reminded me of my own inglorious sailing career.
Reading Time: 3 minutes

Our family bought a Laser when I was a teenager, which is a good boat to learn to sail in.

We didn’t have it very long when we heard about the inaugural Laser sailing championships at Taupo. I think it might have been 1976. My mate Quinny, who had also bought one, and I thought it would be fun to compete, despite still being uncertain on how to rig them, let alone how to sail properly.

That long ago, morning on the southern shores of Taupo was very still and peaceful. Most of the other competitors on the beach looked like they knew what they were about, so Quinny and I decided to go out early to get some practice.

It was terribly slow going because of the complete lack of wind as we headed out to the course, but we chatted away from our respective craft and compared sailing skills.

We still hadn’t got to the course when we saw a flurry of activity from the shore as the other sailors launched their boats.

We and they realised at the same time that they weren’t going to make the start line in time.

When the starting gun went off, even Quinny and I hadn’t quite got there, but when we went over the line we whooped with delight as we were leading the fleet by a considerable margin and at the very least, one of us might be runner up and even better, one of us would be a national champion before the morning was over.

The pace was glacial, and we watched the fleet cross the starting line as we were already on the second leg.

A little later, I had the edge on Quinny although the better sailors were making ground. One of them was coming towards me heading to the marker I’d already rounded.

He kept yelling “starboard, starboard” but I had no idea what he meant.

I was soon to find out as just after our boats gently banged into each other, he told me that it was to tell me that he had the right of way and I had to give way. My penalty was to now go completely around twice apparently.

This is not an easy manoeuvre when there is no wind and after wallowing around for quite some time, I found myself in the middle of the fleet and crossed the line towards the back of the field.

Thus, the pinnacle of my yachting career was in my first and only race when for a time, I was the leader of a yacht class at the national championships. No Peter Burling, but we take what we can.

I can’t remember Quinny’s placing, and while it was better than me, there was no podium finish for him either.

It must have been winter because my other memory of that weekend was that we drove up to Ruapehu for a day of skiing now that we were over sailing.

Two Commodore station wagons with a boat each on the roof rack looked somewhat incongruous in the car park of a ski field.

What looked even worse when we returned was Quinny’s boat had collapsed in on itself, much like your cheeks do when you suck them in.

The bung was still in and turned out his boat lacked a small breather hole that it should have had, so the difference in pressures and temperatures had produced this startling result. Quinny a panicker at the best of times freaked out. When the bung was removed, the air rushed in and the boat popped back into its usual shape with a satisfying clunk.

These are the sort of sailing stories that sadly didn’t make America’s Cup coverage.

Total
0
Shares
People are also reading