Coaching Night on Glenmore

There are a lot of things to get good at when it comes to sailing a Laser. For me, the first step is getting to the reservoir on time. Tonight I managed this for the first time this season. I left work at the right time. I biked home in a record 30 minutes. I made a sandwich, changed, gathered my gear, and was in the car within ten minutes. I made it to the reservoir by 6pm.

Practice officially starts at 6:30pm. Had I begun rigging right away, I would have been on the water on time. I wanted to ask Peter to show me how he recommends handling the tiller on a tack before he went out on the water so I jogged over to ask him.

He explained: Sitting on starboard side, mainsheet in right hand, tiller in the left. Push the tiller away to slowly begin the tack. Wait for the sail to come over and switch to port side as the sail catches the wind. Keep the main in tight, don't switch hands on the tiller- keep it behind my back. For practice, steer that way for a while. Then switch hands. Sounds simple. But he also said my tiller extension is probably about six inches too long for me. I should not do anything about that until I spend more time sailing fully hiked out and get a feel for how long I really want it.

Lesson over, I rigged the boat in a record 25 minutes, hampered by increasing wind. It's painfully difficult to tie a bowline in your outhaul while the wind is putting tension on it. Ditto for the cunningham. It didn't help that I kept screwing up the rabbit hole and missing the knot. Weird. Last summer I could do that knot with my eyes closed. I need to go to Glenmore Sailboats and get some clips so that I don't have to go through all this knot tieing every time. Not that I won't practice the knots, it's more that I want to save some time rigging. The wind was onshore so I led Fionnlagh down the ramp bow first. This meant that I was guaranteed to get my feet wet and muddy as I tied him to the dock.

I was much quicker than usual getting the rudder on and the daggerboard in. I was very happy with my graceful departure. Tiller extension pulled all the way forward, mainsheet in hand I untied the painter, placed it under the cunningham and outhaul lines, pushed the bow off slightly, grabbed the tiller extension, and I was off. Granted, the main was not trimmed but that turned out to be a good thing. The wind was picking up and white caps were starting to form. I yanked on the vang, then the outhaul and the cunningham. I looked at the sail and then really pulled on the outhaul. I wanted that sail as flat as could be. I didn't go too tight on the vang as I could see I would be overpowered and letting the main out instead of trying to sail block to block. Having the vang on super tight would only ensure that I get a solid whack to the head with the boom when tacking.

The other 3 were zipping around the sailing school dock close to Mark 5. I headed straight out to join them. Letting the main out I could keep the boat flat, hiking out all the way for the gusts. I was moving incredibly fast with spray coming over the bow. It felt sweet and frightening all at once.

Then a really big gust hit. I let out the main a bit and then steered up to try to keep the boom out of the water. I'm not sure quite what pushed me past the point of no return but I found myself falling. I don't really remember exactly what happened. I remember looking down and thinking my feet were going to land on the sail and the boom. Maybe they did but I don't think I went in the water at this point. Somehow I managed to climb over the top and grab the daggerboard and pull it back down before it fell out. In hindsight it may have been smarter to swim around. By climbing over the top, I pulled the high side over too far so that I was in danger of turtling. The wind may have done this anyway. The dagger board was too high up for me to stand on it now so I lowered myself down and stood on the lower gunwale and pulled on the daggerboard. Fionnlagh didn't move much at all except he slowly began pointing to windward. I suspected the mast was stuck in the mud. The water level is still extremely low and I was quite near the spot where the SJ21 stuck in the bottom last Wednesday.

I was starting to feel desparate- really hanging out far from the daggerboard- when Fionnlagh finally started to come up. I wasn't able to climb up on the daggerboard as he came up so I had to drop into the water. I had a brief moment of worry that Fionnlagh would sail off without me. Fortunately, the mainsheet was all the way out and Fionnlagh's bow was to the wind. I always find it difficult to climb back in. It helps that Laser decks are much closer to the water than most. On the first pull my lifejacket caught on the gunwale. More carefull on the second pull, I got the jacket over the edge, grabbed the hiking strap, and pulled, kicked, and wriggled my way back in. Good thing Bill told me to tie the tail of the mainsheet to the hiking strap. That was all that was holding it in the boat. I grabbed the tiller extension and began sheeting in. As Peter came round in the coach boat I began picking up speed. The mud at the top of the mast confirmed my suspicions.

Peter calls out some position adjustments- I can sit further back now. Spill the wind from the sail to keep the boat flat so that I'm not fully hiked out when the gusts hit. I'm feeling not too badly about how things are going. But ahead of me all I can see are the other 3 Lasers. They appear to be mooning me in turn with their big white bottoms (the boats, not the sailors, the sailors are either climbing or swimming). I know I will have to tack, and I really don't feel like it. Peter tells me to head for the orange ball in the water and go around it. I quickly forget about the ball because I stall on the tack. I sheet in, nearly capsize, get going, and try the tack again. I think I inadvertently passed the orange ball on the correct side. Peter is then telling me to run. I ease the main and begin bearing off and it's like I kicked a horse. Instant speed. The boat begins to rock from side to side. I look at the daggerboard: it is already all the way down. I'm still on a reach and want to run. If I ease the main, the boom will dip in the water. If it dips too much I could go into a death roll. When the gusts hit and the boat heels I hike out fully and it's not enough. I wrestle with the tiller extension and head up a bit. I want to ease the boom vang to get the boom higher above the water but I would need a third arm. Hanging on to the tiller and sheet and shifting my weight for gusts is all I can handle. I play this wobbly game for a while- head up, ease the sheet, head down until the boom is almost in the water, head up. Eventually after wiggling over a lot of water I'm close to a run. I'm also closing in on Swirly Winds point.

Peter advises that I don't try to jibe in these conditions. No kidding. I get my main sheet stuck on the transom every time. I'm not sure if Peter noticed that I avoided jibing for the entire icebreaker regatta, facilitated by the fact that the windward mark was always a gate. I feel so unskilled in this boat. I have no trouble jibing a Bavaria 32 or a Commodore 15. So it's back to the wrestling match. I have to head up and sheet in to tack (aka chicken jibe). I make it around. After skimming quickly over a lot of water on a reach I'm close to the others again. On a port tack. I'm not feeling confident about my ability to avoid them, especially given that they might capsize at any moment. (It seems there is always someone in the water tonight). With a few out of control wiggles, I make it through the traffic.

I am scared out of my mind. After going through the traffic, I understand that I am not in control out here. I'm just surviving. The wind is picking up. Practicing starts sounds dangerous for me. I head into the bay where there is a teeny bit less wind. My arms are starting to get tired and I doubt that I could pull myself back into the boat if I capsized again. I head for the dock- choosing the plastic one over the wooden one as it is less likely to do damage in these winds. As I approach the wind picks up. I head back out to the edge of the bay. To be honest, I'm now afraid to dock. It takes practice to learn how quickly the boat slows down when head to wind. I reach back and forth in the bay for a while. The wind seems to be picking up more. My arms are tired, I'm scared. I'm not practicing with the others, I'm just surviving. There is no reason to be out here. I head into the dock.