admin Date , July 6, 2025 Sailing Previous Blog Cool and Damp Comments (0)
We’re on the scoreboard!
The first race went as per tradition — we reached the top mark, the wind disappeared, and we performed several elegant pirouettes before conceding defeat. After multiple failed attempts to round the mark (and watching everyone else sail off into the sunset), we gracefully retired.
Then the wind picked up… and so did a thunderstorm. In Race 2, things finally clicked. Paul managed to hang on to the second group — mostly Lasers and a feisty Lightning — and we actually finished the race! No capsizes, no dramas, and best of all… we took the bell.
We all moored up as the edge of the thunderstorm hit - boats and thunderstorms don't mix.
Then we continued our success in the third race of the day, taking the bell and not coming in last ( ok we came in second to last the other boat having capsized and recovered).
A great day out in the end — soggy, surprising, and strangely satisfying.
We are getting faster at mounting all the cameras on the boat and setting the rigging. So we managed to be first on the water so we thought that we would test the wind conditions before the race
The thunderstorm was building in the distance, rumbling away like an impatient spectator. The wind, however, hadn’t got the memo — it was more of a light sulk than a steady breeze. We didn’t exactly leap off the start line. Let’s call it a polite shuffle into last place. Just as we were beginning to settle in, the boat to our port decided to throw in a surprise tack — right across our bows. With all the grace of startled cats, we tacked away to avoid a collision, which sent us zig-zagging into even less favourable air. By the time we found our rhythm, the rest of the fleet was already sailing off up the river like they knew what they were doing. We eventually reached the windward mark — or rather, we nearly did. The breeze fizzled out entirely, leaving us drifting just shy of glory like a shopping trolley stuck on a kerb. After several increasingly theatrical attempts to round the mark, we looked at each other, looked at the safety boat, and admitted what we already knew: this wasn’t happening. With the lead boats already finishing and the thunderclouds looking more serious by the minute, we cheerfully called across to the safety crew that we were retiring. Then we turned our bow downstream and floated off in search of the next start line — and perhaps, redemption in Race 2. After all, even in sailing, sometimes the smartest move is knowing when to give up gracefully.
Race 2 got off to a much better start. My stomach was rumbling — or maybe that was thunder — it was hard to tell with the sky looking moodier than a teenager denied Wi-Fi.
This time, we were actually with the fleet, not sightseeing from behind. The wind had picked up nicely — the sort that makes you feel hopeful but also slightly tense in the knees.
Just ahead, Keira’s boat tipped. One moment she was sailing, the next the boat rolled over her as the wind died - she was doing an impromptu backstroke. The safety boat dashed to her rescue, but before they could even reach her, she was back in her boat and charging after us like some kind of aquatic superhero. Frankly, it was terrifying.
We rounded the top mark — yes, actually rounded it! — and were holding our own among the other boats. We’d never been so far up the field. For a brief, glorious moment, we considered whether this was what winning felt like. And the thunder cracked louder, as if nature itself was unimpressed.
Lightning flashed. The rain began with a few polite taps, then quickly escalated into a full-blown soaking. But we were near the line — so close — and then… ding! We heard the bell. Not last. Not last!
We made a beeline for the shore as the heavens opened properly, drenching everything that wasn’t already wet (which wasn’t much). By the time we got to land, the rain had eased — of course it had — but we didn’t care.
We weren’t last.
We finished. Actually although we didn't finish last the other boat was in a different fleet race, but it still felt good.
And we didn’t capsize.
Victory comes in many forms.
In the pouring rain we crossed the finish line. Not in last place.
And just like that, the thunderstorm vanished.
The clouds disappeared, the rain slinked off sheepishly, and suddenly it was blue skies and sunshine, as if the earlier chaos had all been a bad dream. Even the wind had changed its mind — new direction, new mood, new challenges.
We lined up for Race 3, our final outing of the day, and somehow managed a cracking start — almost at the front! Well, for about 30 seconds. The fleet soon surged past like we’d accidentally dropped anchor, and we resumed our traditional position: enthusiastic observers with oars.
Still, the atmosphere was lighter — literally and metaphorically. We found ourselves exchanging cheerful banter mid-race with Keira in the Lightning and Richard in the Laser, who both seemed to be running a more relaxed parallel regatta called “Chatting While Competent.” And then the Merlin vanished.
One second it was there, the next it was gone. Then we spotted Guy in the water, his boat now upright but full of more Thames than boat. The boom had knocked him out of the boat. Alistair’s mast had snapped somewhere behind us. The gusts were playful now, the sort that keep you alert rather than terrified. At one point, we watched Tre in the N12 calmly step backwards and vanish entirely off the stern. He reappeared moments later, dignity mostly intact, and they continued racing. We were, briefly and gloriously, ahead of him — though to be fair, we were in different races and possibly different time zones.
We held our own until we reached the dreaded S mark. That’s when the Lasers — sleek, silent, smug — suddenly took off like startled deer, leaving us flapping along behind, heroically resisting the urge to shout "wait for us!"
We crossed the line, last this time — but not defeated.
We rang the bell, waved to the safety boat, and smiled all the way in.
Three races, one thunderstorm, a capsize witnessed (not ours), and no major disasters. A grand day on the water, with wet socks, sunburnt noses, and a slight suspicion that we might actually be getting the hang of this.
Almost.
The second finish of the day.
There was a fourth race, but my knees were killing me so we sat this one out. We hauled the boat out of the water and put the covers back on content with our successes.
