Reefer Madness

Roller reefer, that is.

What?

Tim’s boat had an unfortunate incident with the roller reefer, which simply aids in getting the sails up and down. The bit at the bottom was worn, likely due to age, and the sail wouldn’t stay put. That’s landlubber language for a disappointing finish on Monday when it first happened and on Tuesday when the crew had hoped that the wind and course would mean not too many sail changes. They are in the second half of the leader board—but there is still more sailing.

It’s a gorgeous Wednesday morning—WSW winds, temperatures in the mid teens (that’s about 65 in Fahrenheit)—and Coh Karek has had part of the reefer replaced so she can compete. On board are Tim and his two brothers, Dominic, and Tim E. Having not made it to the start line on time, they will cruise today, and hopefully race tomorrow. Probably some disappointment among the crew, but likely a consensus decision that if you start out behind and are unlikely to make up the time it’s better to retire from the race and enjoy a day’s sailing.

So what am I up to? I am surprised it’s Wednesday—I feel like I’ve not done much during this holiday. Tim asked me last night if I was enjoying the week, and I hesitated. I think it’s because the day starts so late and I’m a morning person, ready to get out and begin the day when in fact none of the races start before 11:40 so the crew is here idling for a bit, getting to the boat about an hour before but up at around 7:30. We have a leisurely breakfast—eggs, bacon, brown bread, coffee and tea. Tim E shares his Guardian, Tim’s brother his FT. We read the paper, emails, books. Tim will check the weather, the tides, and the wind. There is often some discussion of who will take which position on deck. Occasionally there is talk about what to get for lunch and whether to make tea in the Thermos rather than having to make it on the boat (yes, there is a hob and a kettle).

At the appointed hour the crew heads out and I think about what to do next. Sometimes it’s the mundane—run the dishwasher, start a load of laundry, review what we need in the house that runs out of stock quickly, like butter and milk and loo paper.

I always walk the High Street—just for the exercise, but also for the people watching and being a part of the Cowes Week scene. I have also made my way toward Gurnard, to the west, for a longer walk, though it is crammed with walkers, dogs, prams, and stalls. Yesterday the most popular of them was the Talisker tent, where there was free whisky to be sampled I walked down to the western part of the beach to watch some of the extreme sailing—40-foot catamarans racing close to the shore and extremely close to each other. It’s quite exciting to watch, but the commentators yammering over the loudspeakers are a bit over the top with their enthusiasm. The crowd is bigger than last year, and stretched out more along the beach.

Every day I’ve paused for a cup of tea on the roof terrace; I like the view, the quiet. And I always seem to find my way back to my comfortable perch on the second floor where I have a view of the boats either finishing or coming back to the harbour after the race. I always look for which Contessas are coming in first—always Blanco,  owned and skippered by Ray Rouse. Blanco has entered Cowes Week regatta each year for over 20 years and has won 7 times, each with the same skipper and crew of six, including last year. Tough to beat, clearly. After seeing Blanco I anticipate that Coh Karek should be not long behind.

Tim seems very happy to participate, though disappointed that the reefer caused them to not finish well in the last two races—expectations perhaps falling a bit short of reality. (He’ll tell me what he thinks after reading this!) He is such a gracious skipper, thanking everyone for their help and for an enjoyable sailing day, no matter how Coh Karek finishes. I have enjoyed meeting them at the pub to hear them talk about the race—what  went well, what could have gone better. I’ll admit it, I’m a poser. I wear a Coh Karek polo shirt and I sit at the same table in the pub, and look to be part of the crew rather than a WAG. Yesterday after a very long day’s sail they went to the Union Inn, just outside the Island Sailing Club’s launch where ribs bring the crews back in from their moorings, and I was on the roof awaiting the Black Knights, who were preparing to parachute in the sky above . . . and I was thinking to myself, you know you don’t belong there so why are you disappointed you weren’t asked? I smile.  Truth be told the conversation continues well into the evening and there is something to be said for letting the crew have their wind-down Shandy and relax together!

(Shandy: beer and cider, generally, of equal parts. Lemon soda can be used instead of cider.)

Tonight is the Royal Ocean Racing Club do at the Royal Yacht Squadron—the most posh we get during the week, where the gents wear jacket and tie, the ladies dress in lovely frocks, and we stand on the lawn overlooking the Solent with our glasses of champagne and occasionally have a chat with others. Last year there was a quartet playing under the marquee and Dominic and I decided to dance, hoping others would join us. They didn’t, and we didn’t care.