admin Date , October 12, 2025 Sailing Previous Blog Speed Trials Last Comments (0)
We entered a couple of races on Sunday as part of the Autumn Series. The breeze was light, the sails barely filled, and progress up the river was slow—but determined.
In the final race of the day, there were only three boats on the start line. By the finish, only one was still out on the water… us.
And yes — we came third.
Before anyone gets too excited, let’s just say the competition had already finished, packed up, and were heading home while we were still drifting past the final mark. The safety boat crew, keen to tidy up, collected the marks just as we rounded them for the last time. That’s efficiency.
There were six boats on the start line for the first race of the Autumn Series. All sleek, single-handed speed machines — OKs, a Phantom, a Laser, a Lightning — and then us… in the RS Toura.
Now, don’t get us wrong. The Toura is a fine boat. Sturdy. Spacious. Great for picnics. But it’s not exactly known for blistering pace or lightning manoeuvrability. And with the wind barely strong enough to ruffle a tea towel, we weren’t exactly in our element.
The Start (or Lack of One)
As the five other boats launched off the line with whatever wind they could summon, Paul and I were still trying to gybe, stalled mid-turn like an oil tanker doing a three-point turn in a duck pond. We leaned. We shifted weight. We politely asked the boom to swing. Nothing.
Meanwhile, Chris in the OK had jumped the start and had to go back — giving us a brief moment of hope that we weren’t technically last. But hope is fleeting.
By the time Chris rejoined the race, we had just reached the tree line — also known as the valley of despair — where the wind goes to die. Whatever forward motion we had evaporated. Chris cruised past with the mild smirk of someone who knows he’s definitely faster.
The course was mercifully short. That’s a polite way of saying we were never going to survive five laps otherwise.
But just as we approached the windward mark, the leading boats had bunched up — all sitting idle in a flat calm. For a glorious moment, we caught wind (barely) and started closing in like a silent ambush.
We made up all our lost ground, inching forward like we were sneaking up on them in slow motion. We could smell their sandwiches. We could taste the comeback.
And then… traffic jam.
With no room to round the mark, we were forced to peel wide, watching the others crawl around and escape. Just as we finally turned for the run… the wind gave up completely.
The Lonely Laps
From that moment on, it was like racing alone in a bathtub. The Phantom zipped off into the distance, lapping the field like it had a secret engine. By the time the lead boats were finishing their fifth lap, we were still waving fondly at our second.
The moment we finished the first race the klaxon sounded for the five minute warning for the start of the second race. We were the only boat on the water. Then the Phantom helmed by Alaster came out. Second was a possibility. Then the Laser, helmed by Ray came out. We could still get third.
The flag came down and the Klaxon sounded twice. We were off. We were in first place. By the end of the club frontage, the Phantom had overtaken us and as Alaster moved in front of us. He called out to me to adjust my jib to match the angle and shape of the main. I pulled in the Jib. Too much called Alaster and I let it out a bit. Ray behind us in the laser called out that if Alaster continued to help us we might beat him in the laser.
There was no chance.
Within moments the laser caught the wind and was off. Three laps . Could we hold on?
No was the obvious answer.
Alaster in the Phantom finished just as we had rounded the home mark for the second time and Ray was at the top mark turning.
By the finish, only one was still out on the water… us.
And yes — we came third.
Before anyone gets too excited, let’s just say the competition had already finished, packed up, and were heading home while we were still drifting past the final mark. The safety boat crew, keen to tidy up, collected the marks just as we rounded them for the last time. That’s efficiency.
But third is third.
And considering we’re usually “last with honour”, this is progress.
A podium finish — and no capsizing.
Call it “less last.”
Call it a victory for persistence.
We’ll take it.
