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Sadly it seemed that my chance was not to be, all places were filled. While I received many a comforting email from Yotlinx, my hopes began to fade until I had all but forgotten the enticing possibility so nearly within my grasp. Then while camping in Aviemore, an urgent call from my wife and an equally urgent response and I was in! Ten days later I would be upon the high sea, I could almost hear the accordions sweeping me away on a tide of joy. The intervening time was filled with frantic research and some trepidation. What’s a Sunfast 37? How do I tie a Bow-line? What will it be like sharing a tiny space with seven other people that you don’t know; and who, for the most part have some kind of accomplishment with these big flappy triangular bits of cloth? My wife duly imparted her sailing horror story…bla bla submarine exercise…bla bla….run out of fuel…bla bla….all crew sea sick…bla bla……..we entered the marina under sail ( see “run out of fuel” above). On arrival in Largs my fears gave way to eager anticipation. My Skipper, a tall, bearded and bespectacled figure with an air of academia, instantly instilled my confidence in both his ability and my own. He spoke in calm and measured tones and with the authority of one who really knows what they’re talking about and doesn’t have an ego. Likewise, all but one of the crew were experienced, and all were non-judgemental, I felt total freedom to ask any stupid question I wanted, I decided to take full advantage! We were under way shortly after the included, and extremely welcome, cooked breakfast at the sailing club. I was eager to get stuck in to sailing. My eyes continually roved the boat, tracing sheets and halyards from their clutches and familiarising myself with locker contents. The skipper advised that we could expect anything from force four to force eight and I was secretly excited about the upper end of this scale. We set sail for the Northern tip of Bute and performed six MOB manouvres along the way, with the skipper, mate and one other crew all taking a couple of turns each. This was good practice for me, as we were on a run all the way to the starting line of the race, with no opportunities for messing about too much otherwise. As anyone attending the regatta could tell you, my story could end there, as the meteorology fell distinctly short of accuracy. Wind was provided only by the disappointed sighs of the crew and the occasional belch. Although, in a “watching paint dry” kind of way, the latter was an exciting development in race tactics. At Ardlemont Point the race was shortened. We jogged ourselves awake and the motor kicked to life. Tensions dropped away, and thoughts turned to THE PARTY! I was certainly not disappointed, the quality of entertainment ( both professional or otherwise ) was fantastic, and after a disappointing day proved a huge tonic for all. The “Anchor”, a quaint pink building on the shorefront at Tarbert, played host with ease. Home More General Stories Search News Story Submissions Comments (0)No comments. |
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