Spectacle

That was the first word that came to mind this morning as I watched the boats gather in the Solent for the start of the 80^th Round the Island race. Imagine 1,908 boats sharing space near the start line, trying to perfectly time their scheduled kick-off. There are several starts, in fact—the crew of Coh Karek had a 7:10 start in the “blue” class with the other Contessas competing.  I read there’d be 16,000 sailors in town—the high street last night starting at around 6 pm certainly had its share of them. We found a table at one of the pubs, the Peer View, just under the awning (and good thing as it was drizzly) and the crew talked a little tactic—who would man the foredeck, who would navigate, etc.

This morning I took up my favourite seat in Harbour House, binoculars in hand, to watch her and the other boats go by my window as they headed toward the Royal Yacht Squadron where the canon would fire about every ten minutes to start each of the classes. Last year Tim and I headed down (at the ungodly hour of 5:30 am) to watch first-hand from just behind the cannons; this year, Tim competes with his own boat, having a completely different vantage point (and getting slightly more sleep—he was up at 5:40 and out by 6:00)! I thought to go down to the RYS to watch some of the starts, but with the wind whipping the flags and sails in a  grey and dull and slightly damp dawn, I was cognisant that I still haven’t shaken off this cold, which has dwindled to a cough and dry throat but is nonetheless still persistent and annoying.

The view now, as the clock shows 7:15, is a little different—it’s clearer, a bit brighter, and the only boats I see belong to the “green” and “purple” classes, which must have the last two starts. Most have at least one sail up; some are powering toward the start line on engine. There is no doubt a skill to trying to get as near to the start without going over when you’re sailing—you can’t stop dead in the water, and with so many boats around you, well, as a non-sailor I think that must be tricky.

I felt a bit like a sailor last weekend, though—maybe it was just the waterproofs head to toe, but I did manage to sail (rather than ferry) back to Cowes from Lymington last weekend with Tim and Dominic. I took up a post behind the tiller and simply watched the world go by. It was a three-hour journey, with some good wind and a lot of cloud cover.  I didn’t do much in the way of helping—Tim asked me once or twice to thread a rope, though mostly I tried to stay out of the way as they tacked or jibed, Dominic pushing the tiller while Tim winched to get the sails to fill.

I sound very nautical, don’t I? I am in fact enjoying the slow learning process. I have no desire to race, but would like to continue to cruise and learn enough to be useful. Let’s face it, in Britain sailing is not for the weak—it’s mostly cold, often wet, and occasionally “lumpy”; it ain’t a catamaran on the Med with bikini-clad girls and bare-chested boys taking in the sun! I think there’s some middle ground where you don’t love it but you don’t hate it—it can be thoroughly enjoyable as long as you can stay warm and dry. I think that’s where I’m comfortably sitting at the moment.

And comfortably seated I am, this morning, as now there are just a few sailboats in the distance. Round the Island is in full swing, all classes heading toward the Needles, perhaps the larger boats already beyond and at St Catherine’s Point. I expect the crew of Coh Karek will take 11 hours to finish—in fact at dinner last night with the crew, we bet a pound each on what time she would finish:  captain Tim gave the longest prediction, for 7 pm and I chimed in 6 pm; the others chose from between 5 and 6:30. I’d love it if Ben’s prediction—the shortest—rang true, but I suppose the more important number here is where Coh Karek finishes . . . top half would be lovely!

Time will tell!