admin June 21, 2025 Sailing Previous Lesson Gybing Comments (0)
From Theory to Tiller – Getting the Practice In
All the sailing theory in the world is fine and dandy, but at some point, you’ve got to stop reading the book and actually get in the boat. That’s where the real learning happens.
Paul and I try to sail as often as life (and the weather) allows—ideally 1 to 3 times a week. Some of these outings involve helping in a safety boat, offering advice to others. Strangely, you often learn just as much—if not more—by watching what not to do as you do from trying to do it yourself. There’s something very educational about watching another boat tack into the wind, stall completely, and then gracefully spin round like a disoriented duck.
On other days, we’re in our own dinghy, with Paul usually taking the helm. We’ve been out in all sorts of conditions, including some rather lively winds this year. A few times, we’ve taken one look at the choppy water, listened to the halyards howling in the breeze like ghostly whippets, and decided—very wisely—to stay on land and just look nautical from the safety of the clubhouse.
Which brings us back to the classroom—well, the riverbank version of it. When in doubt, or when we feel like we need a confidence boost, it’s back to Start Sailing with our ever-patient instructor Mark. He somehow makes learning feel less like a lesson and more like an adventure (albeit one where you sometimes end up unexpectedly backwards).
Because in the end, sailing isn’t just about knowing what a gybe is—it’s about knowing when not to attempt one in a Force 5 with your hat already floating off downriver.
From Battleships to Sardine Tins – And Learning Not to Fall In
Have you ever noticed how deceptively big a sailing boat looks when you’re standing on shore… and how incredibly small it feels once you're actually in it? Especially when it starts tipping at angles previously only achieved by deckchairs in a stiff breeze.
One of the joys (and occasional terrors) of learning to sail is that people often come out with me – either as helm or crew – to offer tips, encouragement, and unsolicited commentary on my rope-handling technique. It’s all very helpful. Mostly.
This year’s Start Sailing course has been a revelation. Mark, our instructor and river whisperer, bravely took my wife out in a boat and managed to conquer her fear of “doing it wrong.” Not by shouting, but with calm encouragement, the occasional demonstration, and (probably) an internal monologue of “please don’t capsize.” His watch was not waterproof.
Then it was my turn.
Mark joined me as crew and, with the enthusiasm of a man who clearly enjoys a challenge, had me flinging the boat through slow and fast tacks and gybes. At one point, I found myself hanging out of the boat like a decorative fender while trying to keep the thing flat and vaguely pointing in the right direction.
The good news is, the number of times I fell in the boat has now decreased significantly. I no longer land on the mainsheet like a startled goat with each turn. Progress!
Better still, I’m now sort of confidently taking my wife and son out with me at the helm. We may not be the fastest boat on the water, but we are—usually—pointing the right way and remaining mostly upright. Which, in our family, counts as a solid win.
Practising Sailing – Or How Not to Forget Everything You Just Learnt
So, I’ve officially passed my RYA Level 1. Yes, I know. Cue the applause, confetti cannons, and possibly a small boat-shaped cake. But before I could bask in glory too long, reality set in: Level 1 just means you’ve learnt enough to know how much you don’t know.
And so begins the next chapter: practising all those newly acquired skills while aiming for RYA Level 2. Think of Level 1 as the bit where you learn how to get in the boat without falling out. Level 2 is where they expect you to actually go somewhere on purpose.
Practice Makes... Slightly Less Splashy
The instructors were very clear. “Now it’s time to practise in different conditions,” they said. “You need to build confidence in light winds, gusty winds, strong river currents, and that meteorological horror known as ‘no wind at all’.”
Let me tell you, no two sails are ever the same. Here are a few things I’ve been trying to master, usually with mixed results:
1. Tacking Without Trauma
In light winds, tacking is elegant. You gently swing through the wind, the jib flutters, and the crew switches sides like a well-choreographed dance.
In stronger winds, it becomes a high-speed scramble accompanied by panicked yelling and the occasional tiller to the shin. I’ve now learned the secret: anticipate, communicate, and don't sit on the mainsheet.
2. Gybing Without Taking Someone’s Head Off
Gybing used to strike fear into my heart. It’s the sailing equivalent of changing lanes on the motorway while blindfolded. But practice makes it less terrifying. I’ve even started using the phrase “controlled gybe” without irony. My crew remains unconvinced.
3. Starting to Feel the Wind (And Not Just Complain About It)
There’s something magical about recognising a gust approaching by watching ripples on the water and adjusting the sail before it hits. There's also something entirely infuriating about getting that wrong and watching another boat overtake you like you're anchored.
I’ve developed a system. If I'm not moving, I loudly declare it's “tactical holding” and pretend I’m checking for obstructions.
4. Helming in a Straight Line (Or Something Approaching One)
One of the Level 2 requirements is to helm a straight course. This is tricky when the wind changes its mind every three seconds and your crew is asking where the snacks are.
The trick is to pick a fixed point—like a tree, a buoy, or in my case, someone’s suspiciously expensive boat—and aim at it. Unless, of course, you’re supposed to avoid it.
5. Knowing When to Head In
There’s an important skill that isn’t in the syllabus but should be: knowing when to call it a day. When the sky turns black, the wind disappears entirely, or your crew starts eyeing the bank longingly, it’s time to head for shore. Preferably with some dignity and not via a slow drift into the reeds.
Looking Ahead to Level 2
RYA Level 2 is all about independence. You’re expected to rig the boat yourself, launch and recover it, sail in all directions, and even rescue a man overboard (usually a buoy called Bob, who has seen some things). With each session, I’m gaining confidence—and also a growing collection of minor bruises and salty anecdotes.
But every time I head out, I remember why I love this strange, slippery sport. The combination of wind, water, teamwork, and just the right amount of chaos makes sailing unlike anything else.
Besides, I now own a very stylish logbook. And that’s practically half the qualification.
Fair winds (and a dry bum),
Philip
