It’s all plain sailing…or, over the sea to school

At last, after two years of Covid, we were able to have junior sailing again up at Brae this summer.

I missed the sign-up session, and arrived at the first sailing evening to a sea of small people in wetsuits. We’d got twenty-eight of them! Did we have enough boats...? enough instructors...? Two Senior Instructors, one Dinghy Instructor, and two former trainees, now in their twenties, and keen to take on the teenagers and teach them to race. On top of that we had various power boat qualified dads, uncles and cousins along with other competent parents, all set to drive guard boats. We were good to go.

As for boats, well, two instructors took three total beginners each in two of the Sport 14s, which IMHO is all they’re good for, as they’re fibreglass elephants which have to be reefed down in all but the lightest of zephyrs. The most experienced sailors each took a sailed-two-years-ago beginner out in a  Pico, those indestructible pink-sailed saucers with the steering delicacy of a supermarket trolley, and the medium-experienced went out in pairs. The remaining total beginners went out in the guard boats and were swapped into the Sports. By the end of the first session, everyone had had a go at steering and tacking (changing direction), and the older ones demonstrated a capsize before the traditional jumping off the pier – yes, they have to do it. They fuss all session about staying dry and how cold the sea is, then voluntarily jump in at the end.

The following week the seniors moved into the Mirrors, leaving the Picos to the juniors. We were all set, but the weather wasn’t playing. We used one of the too-windy sessions to work on rigging your boat and tacking – the process where you put the boat’s nose across the wind to change direction. It’s surprisingly difficult, however clearly you teach it,  and however often you get them to go through the moves.

On shore, naturally, the boats tip over if one person sits in the back, so the crew has to sit in the nose, facing back so that they can keep eye contact with their helm, because the biggest first task is to keep them looking forward, to see where they’re going. Okay, warn your crew. Ready about! And the crew replies ... ? (We did this in the first session). One small voice replies uncertainly, ‘Ready?’ ‘Ready,’ I agree, ‘but what’s the sound I want to hear first?’ Blank faces. I put the mainsheet into the cleat and click it out. ‘Uncleat the sail first. Click ready.’

We try it again. ‘Ready about!” the helms yell. ‘Click ready,’ the crews reply.

Push it across and wave to the fishes. Back foot across the boat, toes pointing forwards.  You don’t need to look back at the helm! Straighten up and sit down – yes, I know it’s behind you. Not a problem. Keep looking forward, get the boat on course – yes, you need to centre the whole helm, not just the extension ... you’ve just done two complete circles ... once you’re heading the way you want, swing the tiller extension in front of you, and there you are.

Once they’d got the back-foot-forward idea, the rest came, well, fairly naturally. One of the things that gladdens this teacher’s black heart about sailing is that it’s self-penalising. Those who don’t listen or think they know better generally end up swimming.

Yes, arctic wind or not, by popular demand, the session ended with everyone in turns capsizing a Pico tied to the end of the pontoon.

That caused a panic with one of the lasses. It would be cold, she said, so she didn’t want to do it. ‘Much better to try it first here in the marina rather than for real out in the voe,’ we said, but she was determined, and we couldn’t force her ... until she came back saying she wanted to jump off the pier. No, we replied firmly. If she wouldn’t capsize because it was too cold, she wasn’t going in swimming either.

Once she’d tried her first capsize, she liked it so much that she did it again.

We had ideal conditions for their first shot solo: a glorious sunny evening, with a gentle breeze blowing shorewards. They all rigged their Picos, had them checked, and got them tied along the pontoon (memo to self: knot work).

They had a lot of fun. The pair of brothers went neatly round like pros; the rest kept being blown down from the bouys and had to be directed back to the other one (teaching memo 2: upwind sailing).  Every so often we had to swap children around (memo 3: going head to wind to stop the boat) There was a lot of confusion between hands, feet and tiller extension in tacking (the crews were in charge of the mainsheet, otherwise that would have joined the tangle), but at least no crew went into the nose of the boat, on the grounds that that’s how we’d practised it on shore ...  Memo 4: we’d need to emphasis the helm being on the UP side of the boat, not under the sail unable to see anything. Confidence was great, everyone was smiling, and we stayed out an extra half hour. Reporting from the shore, Hughie reported a memo 5: arriving at the pontoon. They’d gone for the stopping-by-ramming method. Such a good thing Picos are solidly built!

The next session was the final one of this run of six, and a gusty day turned into another perfect evening. We talked about going head to wind (into irons), and how to get moving again. The idea was that we’d do races: head to wind in a line, round the two buoys and back to head to wind to finish – except that once we got out into the voe, they scattered like a litter of kittens loose in a byre. We managed a couple of races, but never with all the boats together on the starting line.

To finish, we got out the sack of oversized ping-pong balls in day-glo colours, which are thrown on the water for the children to gather up. It’s a fantastic way of teaching boat handling skills. The minute they see the bag a sort of feeding-frenzy descends, like sharks scenting blood. Helms abandon RYA method or being scared of gybing, and start flinging the boats around any old how. Previously cautious crews lean precariously out to grab either legitimate target balls on the water or less legitimate ones in the boat next to them. One pair got so excited that they capsized – and got the boat upright by themselves.

They got most of the balls, we scooped up most of the leftovers and threw them back into the mix, and several escaped to gladden the heart of the next dog to walk the tideline.

The official winner total was written up next to the boat name/your names list on the whiteboard. 47 balls to beat come autumn... though the pair who’d capsized called foul, claiming they’d had more than that before they went over.

Come school’s-back, the nights wil be dimming, but they’ve got an incentive to rig quickly and get out there: their own Pico regatta at the end of September.

We try to make sure everyone gets a medal. New helm cup, jibman’s cup, hat trick cup, slalom cup, best of three ... but twenty-eight of them!  We’ll have to think up more races. Sailing backwards, anyone ...?