I volunteered as dock and RIB boat crew for the festival and wangled my place firmly at the meter quay to enjoy just looking at the scene of seven 60 footers and various 8mR and 9mR wooden delights which began to arrive mid week. Like all regattas with boats sardined in at one end of the visitor harbour, there was a good deal of stress the first few times in and out, not helped by an unusual summer storm blowing up enough swell to make for trouble through the harbour at Risør. It is very unusual in summer because the opening to the sea, between their own mini ' Hebrides' otherwise so sheltering for the town, is only about 150m. A bit of chaos and extra anchoring ensued until 11 pm, I had been drenched working in the inner harbour with only a tee shirt under me oily so had gone to my lodgings for a smuggled Lemsip to nurse my worsening cold.
The next day's racing was offshore beyond the outerst of the wee noggie Hebrideans, where there was true wind and left over swell to sail in, at the easter extremity of the North Sea aka the Skagerakk. Some local lads and various interested folk were on some of the slightly short crewed 12mRs and I wondered about my obligation to the dockside service and my heavy cold, versus popping out with one. I also was pretty keen to get out in a Rib and take some photties. I hummed a bit too much on the first day with the best light conditions, and one of my oppo's snuck out for a couple of hours with one of the RIB "tug" drivers after all the 12mRs were nudged out the harbour mouth.
I managed an hour of photting on the slightly duller day, and in fact for the conditions and my now virtually prehistoric DSLR, (olympus E450, see other blogg) I got some good enough shots, let down only by leaving a polarising filter on and knocking the camera wheel onto aperture from shutter priority at one point. It was bouncy and a light rain shower came on. The E450 was the smallest DSLR in the world when launched, and being also their lower model, it lacks any form for weather proofing other than due care, a jacket at hand, the camera bag and a good plastic bag over that.
There we are, some photting of boats some grown men lust, dream and drool over. For me "big boats" seemed something for Cowes and Newport in most ways. Scottish waters since the 1980s has had a bit of a mixed experience with some well known 60 foot plus racing boats and the odd egos of those who owned them, and generally sailed them pretty badly. They did also attract the usual groupies who like matching sailing gear and big beers to go with the size of boat. I kind of hate groups, yet I love teams.
That is the crux of the matter then. I saw that one boat, Le Cid, a 1956 12mR crusier kitted racer, was being helmed by a guy called Stein Victor with a chap called Gunnar on bow. I had sailed with them in Hollenderen and Færderen races on a 362s ten years ago. They needed crew, so on Friday while I had booked a RIb trip, I found a couple of crew for them pronto. Saturday I sailed with them.
Another thing that kind of put me off bigger boats is the lack of immediacey, the lack of self responsibility and the following lack of control I had percieved. Also things like crew coreography bosses, having met a couple off the water or very snobby owners and so on were kind of preconceptions I had. It seemed the thing to do, since it was my first sail actually this season, to ease my way in with guys I had spent a good few days training and competing intensely with at least, and it prove very much to be the case.
I have sailed on a few 45 footers and in fact the 12m rater at a length of just over 60 ft (18.4 m) just didn't feel all that much bigger. The pole, boom, shackles and all the sheets were twice the size it has to be said. Rather hoping to be second on bow and avoid the ridiculously small offshore cockpit, I was indeed given mast, being the tallest on board forward of the beam where I had been loitering with intent..... so mast and inward end it was .....with help of two others.
Experience and being awake are really what equiped me to come on board this boat and do a good job, while also fitting into the general coreography on board. The core team had all sailed lots together and eat and breath sailing up in Oslo, so there was no stress and never a raised voice. In effect the coreography was helping each other out, rather than say in the hoists, actually being a closely honed machine of whizzing arms. I am so big that a fast hoist by the only way I know, jumping and pumping, excludes most people from a 3m radius, so I just let someone spell me when friction and wind took up the strain, and then I tailed the winch for the last few meters. That was one difference though, the spinnaker seemed to take forever to be 'made' at the top, and the clutch was shit too.
We could see other teams with all their matching, logoed up regatta gear not bothering to hoist or trying the stupid code zero thing with a standard kite, which doesn't really work. Also one boat, which will remain nameless but was Danish and being helmed by a former Finn olympian, did a text book bad leeward rounding, due to a late drop mess up the preceeding day, as captured on digital brick above. She sailed her self down three places with one little mess up, and that goes to show that the way these boats carry, the sail area and the lack of gaurd rails on most of them, means that risk taking has to be minimised and recoveries cannot be taken on the edge of a broach as with smaller 'tupperware'.
I must say I am hooked on big boat sailing, as in much the way I was when I sailed each new 'category' of boat and each new job I progressed to in my career. I enjoy teaching sailing skills to less experienced folk and there were guests aboard, and there are some new techniques of working hand-over-hand with a larger team which I find a new challenge. The schmelges is up for sale, and it is fast approaching end of season so maybe I will just sit on the idea, and live off the new experience a little over the winter.
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