Racing at Glenridding

Last weekend I had my first experience of racing.
Twice a year, in June and September, the gaffe rigged boats gather at Glenridding for a day of racing. Always ready to learn from someone more experienced, I offered to crew for anyone without a crew, if they would have me.  So I ended up crewing for Barry.
All the boats were traditional boats, without a keel, and with weights along the ridge which make them very unlikely to capsize.  So much so that Barry had carpet in his.  He taught me how to drain the excess water off my shoes before stepping in, but sadly my rolled up trousers were not rolled up enough, and I dripped quite a bit of water on the carpet. Sorry Barry.
Gaffe rigged boats have a beam attached at an angle to the mast, so that the sail reaches higher than the mast. Barry's was a gunter rig, where the beam rises vertically above the mast.  It was a GRP (glass reinforced fibreglass) body with a wooden trim, well treated and bright.
The boat had two jib sales, one attached to the front of the boat, and the other attached to a short extension bar.  They were my job to look after, the front one had green sheets (ropes) and the back one had brown ones.
Neither Barry nor I had a watch, so Steve lent me his (thanks Steve) and we timed the 5 and 4 and 1 minute hooter, counting down the the start hooter.
I was impressed how much every one trusted each other. The boats were sailing incredibly close to each other, and the ones with the right of way were not tempted to give way themselves, confident that the other boat would indeed do what was required.   While all this was going on they were busy trading banter with one another.
After we turned at the south end of the lake we had a long stretch on a run, and there was more time to talk. We went round an Island near the east and across to the west round a buoy, and then came the stretch sailing upwind toward the finish line.
Traditional boats are not like dinghies, and I was trying to pull the jib sheets too tight.  Linnhe explained to me afterwards that if you try to sail too close to the wind, the boat is blown leeward, and you actually make more progress by sailing less close to the wind.
I think we came in fourth.  A hooter is blown as you cross the line, and you hope that it is blowing for you, and not the other boat that is trying to catch you.   It is difficult to tell, because you can cross the line at any point between the two shores.  After you cross you hold up the page with your number, so that they can make a note of it against your time.
Afterwards, Barry had the job, with some help I think, of keying these times and handicaps, to work out who had won.  In the second race, which he was not taking part, the winner is the one who crosses the line first, but the handicap is quite a different matter.
I took the opportunity to go out in one the Seaflies before I had to be on my way back, and Linnhe lent me her watch so I could finish in time. The staff at Glenridding are certainly very supportive.  I got changed into my (brand new) wetsuit, which was just as well, not that I capsized the Seafly.  Being concerned not to hit the dagger board on the bottom, I pulled it up well before I reached the shore. But as I was sailing into the wind, I soon started drifting without the centreboard.  I thought I was in water shallow enough to jump out, and soon discovered otherwise when I tried, and pulled myself back into the boat.  And that was how my new wetsuit was baptised.