admin Date , August 17, 2025 Sailing Previous Blog Alex and Hannah in the Toura Comments (0)
The start of a dinghy race is always the tensest moment — boats hovering on starboard, edging back and forth, waiting for the right second to pounce. Usually, we’re the ones still fumbling with the sails as the fleet disappears ahead. But this time was different. The horn went, we crossed the line bang on the word “go,” and suddenly we were accelerating away while everyone else just… sat there. We were as surprised as anyone — but what a feeling!
The wind was good, the sun was shining — a perfect day to be out on the water. Eleven boats lined up for the first race, which made for quite a crowded start line. As the horn went, we got away cleanly and for a brief, glorious moment we were right in the thick of it. All the way up to the first mark we held our place in the middle of the pack. Then reality struck — the leading boats slipped past us with ease, leaving us fending off the Fevas and Toppers behind. There was even a Zest out on the water, but thankfully not racing, so at least we weren’t threatened from that direction. The race quickly divided into three clear groups: the front-runners with polished crews, us in the middle trying to hang on, and the Fevas and Toppers bringing up the rear. We clung on as best we could, but by the end of the second lap the leaders were already threatening to lap us. Fortunately for us, it was only a two-lap race. So we started in the middle, we finished in the middle, and for a couple of marks at least, we even felt like we belonged at the sharp end. A small victory, perhaps, but one we’ll happily take.
The second race was a bit different: three laps of the big sausage, little sausage course — shaped rather like a giant paperclip laid out on the Thames. We actually managed to be in the right place at the right time, almost perfectly on the line as the horn went and the flag dropped. To our astonishment, we were over the line first and, for a brief, shining moment… we were in the lead.
This has never happened before.
Of course, the other boats were right on our heels. The Phantoms, in particular, were eating up the distance. Alastair, grinning from his Phantom, even called across for us to “go faster and hold the lead!” We tried — honestly we did — but then the wind softened, the Toura slowed, and the Phantoms slipped ahead with ease. Still, for a while at least, we were running with the pack.
A Merlin behind us seemed to be having a bad day and struggled to catch up. We tried our best to hold off a Wayfarer, but their crew were hiking out in the gusts like trapeze artists, while we took the more cautious approach of easing the sails to keep ourselves safe and (mostly) upright.
No Toppers or Fevas in this race — just the bigger boats — and with three laps to complete it was a longer slog. The Wayfarer finally squeezed past us, though we stuck on their heels as long as we could. Twenty seconds behind… then thirty… then forty. But here’s the important thing: we crossed the finish line still on the same lap as the rest of the fleet.
And yes — we were first across the line… even if only for ten glorious seconds. But in our book, that still counts!
