Dinghy Master Class

Those landlubbers who stayed rooted to the shore over the weekend missed a treat. On Saturday the Enterprise fleet had the joy of attending a Master Class given by Richard Estaugh. He introduced himself very modestly as having won a number of Regattas, but failed to mention that he is the current world champion Enterprise helm.

The Master Class began with tips on tuning the dinghy and as my dinghy was fully rigged, when he scanned around for a suitable dinghy to use, Maveric was chosen. I puffed my chest out with pride, but deflated it quickly when it dawned that he was probably going to point out a whole series of improvements, particularly as I know as much about tuning a dinghy as I know about inter-galactic travel.

Pride returned when the tuning passed with flying colours (no doubt due to Robbie's careful attention to detail). But the rudder was in need of attention, it waggled around far too much and, what is worse, when fully down it is angled slightly forward.

What do you do with the kicker? Well, lots of blank expressions around. I, personally, put it on at the beginning of the race and there it stays (unless it jumps out of its own volition). Dear me, I should be adjusting it when I move from a beat to a reach, watching the tell-tale streaming out from the topmost tell-tail on the leach and giving the kicker a little tweak on the runs.

The tips abounded and ten of us took to the water to test out our newly gained knowledge. Exciting was putting it mildly, thank goodness we were not racing, it was a battle, on occasions, to stay afloat. Although the wind barely reached force 4, it was a south-westerly and the nasty, unexpected, gusts were very trying. Our instructor had laid a tight triangular course and we roared around it. One by one, he motored up beside the dinghies and asked some pointed questions. What have you done with your kicker? (shame, it was still hard on). What have you done with the Cunningham (oops, should have let that off too), and where is your centreboard?; as we were on a run at the time, oh dear, forgot that too.

After about half an hour, and after the embarrassment factor had reached maximum it was time to change helms. Simon Ashenden's turn. Round the course we raced again and were just getting into our stride and thoroughly enjoying ourselves when the Harbourmaster appeared.

I am beginning to react to the Harbourmaster in much the same way as one does when pulled over by the police (oops, what have I done now?), although, unlike my reaction to the police I am beginning to think of the Harbourmaster in terms of voodoo, dolls, and pins. He cruises up to our instructor and informs him that we have to be off the river immediately (it is now one o'clock). There is at least and hour and a half's sailing left but, apparently, there is a rowing race to be held shortly and the river has to be clear. We determine to sail right up to half past one. We get off the river only to discover that the rowers do not start their race until 15.00 and we timed the first rower past the Club house - 15.15. Needless to say, there were more than a few furious sailors around. The day ended, as ever, in the bar, where we exchanged experiences and picked up some more tips from our brilliant tutor.

On Sunday, the weather forecast was a bit fierce. Force 5 gusting 6. Nevertheless, a small intrepid band of madmen (and two mad women) turned up and surveyed the river. It was blowing old socks, not only were there white horses by the Eyot, but they extended all the way to our pontoon. A lot of thumb sucking ensued. Val Nedyalkov turned up with a spanking new Laser itching to try it out and Clive Kitson was prepared to give him a run for his money. Max Stephenson was equally determined to take out a brave young lady, and that left Rear Commodore Sailing and me to show them the way.

It took three of us to launch one Laser, such was the wind, but Val took off and Clive was soon after him. More thumb sucking ensued when the Lasers capsized (but then that's what Lasers do, isn't it?). Max had a lot of problems trying to get his rudder on the pintels and, at the third attempt, the main sheet whipped across and neatly removed his glasses. Exit Max. That left our intrepid Rear Commodore and his wimpish crew, me. Would we go out, or would we not? Yes we would, another blast and the dinghy, without a single sail up, reversed down the pontoon on its trolley; was it trying to tell us something? In the end, we decided that it was a bit off to be defeated by a little (little!) bit of wind and, furthermore, we had to put into practice what we had learned the day before; so we launched.

While we were wringing our hands with indecision the race officer started the race. Triangular, short course. Wind due west, straight down the river. We took off from the pontoon like a rocket and reached across the start line. None of this jibing in this wind, we wore around and beat our way to the first mark, no 4 buoy. Well, that was alright, great fun. The dinghy up on its ear in the gusts, so much for a dry boat. Around No 4 and a reach across to No 3. A bit of a wobble while we change positions and set the main, the jib, the kicker, the centreboard and we were off again, roaring across the river. Oops, the next mark is a jibe mark and then a run. In this wind it will be a gallop. We are catching the Lasers, yippee, not a chance of wearing around that mark then. Bite the bullet and jibe. Over went the main, more wobbles, heart in mouth, boat still upright and going like the clappers, too busy to return appreciative waves from drinkers at The Ship. A few more heart stopping moments when the gusts hit, but now it was time to round No1 and get back onto a beat.

Because it was so windy the race officer proposed three races of two laps each. That was fine, and all went well, until we approached No 3 buoy for the second time. Jibe oh! Over went the main and we were back on a run. Then it started to rain, and before we knew it we were hit by one of those blasts, both of us leapt to windward. Not far enough, splash, my newly bought dry suit was getting its first test. In a flash, Trevor Davis appeared and hovered in the Safety Boat ready to spring into action. Simon got on the centreboard and slowly the dinghy righted itself, scooping me up with it. Unfortunately, Simon did what all Laser sailors do when righting a Laser, he climbed in too, but he was on the leeward side and the dinghy went straight over again. I know, we need the practice. The next time we got Maveric up, she stayed up. 'Shall we take down the main now?' 'What for?' We were only careering around amongst mountains of white horses, tut, men they can be so sensible at times. I, cunningly, suggested that if we got onto a reach the boat would drain itself, and I would not have to bail quite so much. Simon got the dinghy onto the reach and we careered back and forth across the river (wow, it's like riding a bucking bronco without the sore backside or the hooves) and by then the dinghy was almost dry; and the wind had dropped a bit. Where we were in the race sequence was anyone's guess, but who cares? The Lasers were still ahead of us, so we had better chase them.

As we crossed the line the finish hooter went, but Val and Clive indicated that they were going to keep on sailing, so we chased after them, again. Our planned six laps turned into eight but, eventually, it was clear that the tide had turned and we had better head for the pontoon. Having dragged the dinghies ashore and helped Trevor to bring up the buoys the intrepid sailors headed for the bar to thank Jill Kerr and her partner for setting a great course and patiently monitoring all the fun and games from the warmth of the Race Box.
Beverley A Lawrence Beech.