How I didn’t win the Worlds...

Originally posted by radixon

How I didn’t win the Worlds….

 The rule change that might
allow masts to come in sections for ease of transport came a bit too late for
the two alloy masts bound for Kingston as part of the British bid to boost the
North American contender population. 
While Alan Mollat happily hacked away at his carbon spar, shortening it
by more than enough for it to fit into the angle our mistaken mathematics had
allowed for all the masts, and the Simon Mussell contribution to the export was
reshaped to allow it to enjoy the journey (under some stress), the two
Wavelength alloys were never going to fit and had to make their own way to the
Worlds.  By some quirk of fate both the
container and the masts arrived in Kingston on the same day, all intact.

 It must have been some kind
of omen that things would not be as they had been portrayed.  “It’ll all fit, no worries” someone,
somewhere had said about the container. 
Wrong.  “Come to Kingston, enjoy
the thermal – 25 knots of breeze”, someone else said, albeit in a slightly
different accent.  Also wrong.

 I must have been the only
woman in England on a ‘get fat for summer diet’, (and the photos show it
worked) anticipating with some nervousness the famous Kingston thermal breeze
and big waves, and to start with, that was what we had.  Rodger White, in ye olde GBR 473 was the only
Brit with the grit to endure the Canadian Nationals.  The wind grew in strength all day on
Saturday, boats came ashore with various breakages and there were the usual
stories of waves bigger than houses – was this a taste of things to come? Much
to my amazement 473 held together, as did Rodger, finishing 19^th
overall.

 The wind kept up on the
Sunday, building itself up into a frenzy for Monday, measurement day, and we
were all grateful for the not to have to go out and train as waves broke over
the wall of the famous Olympic harbour and the sails of many of the youth
regatta competitors came back in tatters. 
Instead we were able to relax into boat bimbling, dismantling and
rebuilding as Ron kept a wise eye on all proceedings in the measurement hall.  For my part, I discovered GBR 621 weighed
quite a lot less once I’d remembered to remove the obligatory 50ft tow line,
sailing jacket and ten gallons of water I had stowed inside my buoyancy tanks
for safe keeping.

 It’s probably a measure of
the development of sailing as an Olympic sport that whilst Portsmouth Harbour
in Kingston was able to host the 1976 Olympic regatta, there’s no way it would
be able to do so now.  I wasn’t the only
one struck by the smallness of the harbour itself, the changing facilities were
non existent (were there any women sailing in the ‘76 Games?) and while the
sail room was more than adequate for the measurement of our fleet of 34
contenders, had there been more boats it would have been jam packed.

 For the Contender Worlds,
however, it was a great venue – once the Youth Regatta competitors had gone;
sharing just one narrow slipway with over 100 laser sailors was no joke, and
many of the guys resorted to mooring up to the jetties and waiting it out.

 Tuesday saw the start of the
Worlds proper.  It was cold, shifty with
hateful marginal trapezing conditions interspersed with a few welcome
opportunities to flat wire.  Mol and
Rodger tussled it out in the early twenties, with Mol finishing just slightly
ahead after two races.  I had spent the
day practising falling around the boat due to a pro grip shortage and making
the usual hash of my boat handling. 
Things got a little better when I remembered that I could use my legs
and hips to raise myself to the trapeze hook rather than feeling it should
lower itself to meet me…. I did, however, manage to put two races between me
and my rival for the women’s title.  So
far, so good.

 On Wednesday there was
little wind from the start.  We lolled
around the dinghy park looking gloomily at the postponement flag and then the
race committee decided to lure us out to the course area with the promise of
the tow.  Once we got outside the harbour
the offer of a tow turned out to be a bluff…. Did I mention that it was an hour
and a quarter sail out to Foxtrot course….and the same back again….?  By this time the temperature had returned to
a more typical 30 degrees – as shown by the lovely zebra stripes on Rodger’s
legs shaped by the intermittent exposure of his flesh to the sun, broken by his
very fetching kneepads… Clearly the light winds suited him as he scored a 9^th,
pulling him clear of Mol who scored a 15^th.  I was nearly last, a position I am well used
to, not helped by a hashed crash tack directly in front of my rival.  I was dazzled by her bright smile as she
cruised past me…..   We did start a
second race and had almost completed a triangle, with me gloatingly clear of
Steph, until the RO decided the so called thermal was a myth and packed up and
went home.  

 Still two-one to me, but
what I was worried about was the number of boats there were in between us in
Wednesday’s only race….

 Thursday was no better wind
wise, though clearly the light stuff suited Rodger who scored an outstanding 6^th
then marred by a 22^nd  - a
result of being over the line at the gun. 
Mol was Mr Consistency with a 14^th and 15^th and I
continued true to my tail ender form. 
Worse than that, Steph beat me in both races – in the first by only one
place but in the second she scored a 25^th with me struggling in at 28th.  More in-between boats with in-between points
to worry about….

  The wind stayed very light for Friday and
Rodger kept up the good stuff with an 8^th, Mol stayed consistent
with a 13th.  By this time I had invested
in some mega rough non-slip and whilst I was ripping the backside out of my new-for-the-trip
race skin I was no longer doing a Torville and Dean around the boat and I
pulled in my best result of the week with a 25^th, probably also because
I was sweating off the weight in the blazing Kingston heat – most days saw the
temperature rise well above thirty degrees…

 On Saturday it looked as if
we might finally get the big winds we’d been promised and the day started out
with white horses on the waves and plenty of breeze.  Just as well, because we had three races to
fit in….and we managed it – just.  I
managed to ditch the boat doing the big bear away just before the start and as
I checked for damage after the resultant succession of Eskimo rolls I looked up
the sail to see my top batten waving cheerily through a little hole it had made
in the luff end of the sail.  This nearly
finished me: I was knackered and I thought I might as well give up.  Then the fighting spirit resurfaced (and the
remembrance of what it had cost to get to Canada and I decided to carry on
regardless.  As it was, the wind died
throughout the course of the day, with the final race of the Championship
reverting true to type – we were sitting firmly in the boats with our trap
wires taunting us as they swung about in the slop.

 I tried to fix the batten in
between the first race and second but it was having none of it and instead did
a neat dive into the lake water,  Never mind;
I had beaten Steph in the first race and was determined to carry on.  I knew we had started the day just three
points behind.  I was now two points
behind, so I spent an awful lot of time doing speculative mathematics.  I needed to keep beating her, and I needed
boat between us too.  Unfortunately a lot
of the boats that had been in and around us at the start of the week had not
ventured out, put off by the rough start to the day, so there weren’t many
takers for the roles of ‘fillers in’.  

 I did find one in the next
race, so now just one point separated us. 
I have never before raced with such grim concentration as I did then – a
hateful thing to have to do in the heat and the extreme light winds.  Coming up the last beat I had one boat
between Stephanie and I – that should be enough.  But no! 
I paid the price for being a life long atheist and the powers that be
sent that boat past me on a gust.  Damn:
equal on points!

 Meanwhile Rodger seemed to
lose his grip a little, perhaps doubting 473’s integrity in the rough stuff,
scoring only two 20ths and a 19^th, allowing Mol to pass him with a
28^th, 11^th and 13^th.  This meant Rodger finished the week 20^th
– not a true reflection of his form,  –
and Mol 18^th.   For my part, I
sailed all three races with no top batten yet finished better than I had done
all week.  However, despite beating
Stephanie in 6 out of the 9 races and drawing equal with her on points, she
beat me for the women’s title on count back. 
Oh well.

 It may seem that given the
lack of wind the Kingston Worlds were a disappointment; not so.  We had nine great races with plenty of boat
to boat tussling at every level of the fleet, the races were exceptionally well
run – not a single general recall, and the social side of the sailing –
organised by Mrs ICA, Andrea Smith, was outstanding and very much
appreciated.  We had a superb welcome
dinner within the CORK complex itself, an excellent evening’s entertainment at
the historic Fort Henry and a never to be bettered Championship Dinner during a
cruise round Lake Ontario’s famous Thousand Islands (and yes, it is where the
salad dressing comes from).

Edited by winging it