The Bourne End to Marlow Race in Champagne — Our First Self-Rigged A-Rater Race

There are sailing days when the wind howls, the river chops up, the spray flies, and everyone returns to the club with heroic stories of survival.

This was not one of those days.

This was a day of heat, haze, drifting, hope, the occasional teasing puff of wind, and three people in a Thames A-Rater trying very hard to look as if they knew exactly what they were doing.

It was also an important day for us. This was our first race in Champagne where we had rigged her ourselves, launched her, sorted ourselves out, and joined the start line as a proper racing boat rather than as a restoration project with sails.

That felt like progress.

A Very Hot Day on the River

The day was hot. Not just pleasantly warm, not just “remember to wear a hat” warm, but properly hot. The sort of heat where the river looks beautiful, the grass looks inviting, and the inside of the race box begins to resemble a greenhouse experiment.

The Officer of the Day reported that the temperature inside the box had reached 43.5°C, which is less like race management and more like slow roasting. Sensibly, the race team decided to organise the race from outside.

At that point, the weather had already made its first important tactical decision of the day: the humans would be overheating, and the wind would be underperforming.

The forecast suggested less than 5 mph of breeze, and for much of the race even that seemed optimistic. But Thames A-Raters are extraordinary boats. With their vast sail area, long elegant hulls, and almost unreasonable ability to move in light air, they should, in theory, be perfect for these conditions.

The phrase “in theory” was going to do quite a lot of work during the day.

Only Two A-Raters — But Plenty to Learn

Only two A-Raters entered the race.

The first was Carina, built in 1902, with Rater Captain Simon at the helm. A beautiful, historic boat, sailed by someone who clearly knew exactly how to persuade movement from almost no wind at all.

The second was Champagne, with Paul at the helm, our good friend Guy learning the mid-hand role, and me on the jib, still learning what to do and when to do it.

That is one of the things I am enjoying about Champagne. She is not just a boat to restore. She is a boat to learn from. Every time we take her out, she teaches us something new. Sometimes politely. Sometimes firmly. Occasionally with a silent but unmistakable suggestion that the crew might like to improve.

The Start — Crossing the Line Facing the Wrong Way

At the five-minute and four-minute klaxons, we were still on the bank.

This is rarely considered the ideal tactical position for a racing start.

However, we managed to get away and did cross the start line at about the right time. Unfortunately, we were facing the wrong direction.

It is good to be original, but perhaps not quite that original.

At almost exactly that moment, the wind where we were decided to disappear completely. Carina, by contrast, managed to cross the line in the correct direction and drift upstream using what little momentum she had.

By the time we had turned Champagne around, Carina already had around a 25-metre lead. In a strong breeze, that might not sound disastrous. In almost no wind at all, 25 metres can feel like the Solent.

The First Lesson — Jib Tension Matters

We were not moving well.

Adrian, an experienced Rater hand, was in the safety boat and came alongside. His advice was simple and very useful: increase the jib tension.

Not slightly.

A lot.

We tightened the jib properly, and the boat immediately felt better. It is one of those simple things that makes a huge difference, especially in a boat like an A-Rater. In light airs, the shape of the sail matters enormously. Too loose, and the sail does not drive properly. Too tight in the wrong conditions, and it can be overdone. But on this occasion, the change helped.

For me, this was a very practical lesson. On a large sailing dinghy, especially one with the sail area of a Thames A-Rater, the jib is not just a bit of cloth at the front. It is part of the engine. Get it wrong, and the boat feels sluggish. Get it closer to right, and suddenly the whole boat begins to respond.

I am still learning the jib. I am still learning what the sail should look like, how the tell-tales should behave, and how much adjustment is needed as the wind changes. But this race gave me a clear example of how important that role is.

Tacking in Almost No Wind

We began to tack up the river.

This sounds straightforward, but in very light airs tacking becomes a delicate operation. The boat needs enough speed to turn through the wind. The crew needs to move without disturbing the balance too much. The sails need to be handled smoothly. The helm needs to avoid oversteering. Everyone needs patience.

And then, just as the boat begins to move, the wind vanishes again.

Every now and again, a little puff of breeze arrived. When it did, Champagne came alive. The big sails filled, the boat gathered speed, and for a few seconds we had that wonderful feeling that she was doing exactly what she had been built to do.

Then the breeze would fade, and we would be back to coaxing, trimming, waiting, and trying to read the river.

Simon, in Carina, was doing this rather better than we were. Each time a puff came through, he seemed to use it a little more efficiently. Each time the boats slowed, he had gained another few metres. Skill in light wind is not dramatic, but it is very visible over time. He did not suddenly disappear. He simply extended his lead, quietly and steadily, one small gain at a time.

The Long River Race Effect

The Bourne End to Marlow race is not a quick sprint around a couple of buoys. It is a proper river race, with distance, bends, trees, shadows, changing wind angles, and plenty of moments where the boat in front appears, disappears, and then appears again in a completely different part of the river.

We kept seeing Carina and then losing sight of her around the bends.

That is one of the peculiar pleasures of river racing. Unlike open water, where you can often see the whole fleet, the Thames gives you little glimpses of the race. A sail appears beyond the trees. A mast moves behind moored boats. A boat ahead seems close, then unreachable, then close again.

It creates hope.

Sometimes false hope, but hope nevertheless.

Finding Better Wind at the Halfway Point

As we reached the halfway point, things improved. We found a little more wind.

It was not strong. It was not exciting. Nobody was hiking hard or shouting for more kicker. But it was more consistent, and that made a huge difference.

With steadier breeze, the boat became easier to sail. We could trim with more confidence, settle into a rhythm, and make proper progress down to the mark before turning back towards the club.

By then, Carina was out of sight. But the race was far from over for us, because another boat was close by.

Racing the OK Dinghy

One other boat was sailing the same race: Jenny in an OK dinghy.

She reached the halfway mark at nearly the same time as we did, and on the way back we found ourselves in a very enjoyable little contest. Jenny was often on the opposite tack, so our positions changed almost every time our paths crossed.

Sometimes we were just ahead. Sometimes she was just ahead. In the very light patches, the smaller OK could keep moving beautifully. When the wind did fill in, Champagne’s great sail area gave us just a little more speed.

This was one of the most enjoyable parts of the race. It was not just about chasing Carina, which by now was well ahead. It was about sailing the boat properly, keeping her moving, choosing the next tack, trimming the sails, and trying to make the most of every breath of wind.

And that is where racing becomes such a good teacher.

What We Learned

The result does not tell the whole story.

Yes, Carina beat us by around twenty minutes. But we completed the race. We rigged Champagne ourselves. We got her to the start. We got around the course. We improved during the race. We learned more about the jib, the balance of the boat, the importance of light-wind sail shape, and the huge value of experience.

A few practical lessons stood out.

First, preparation before the start matters. Being on the bank at the five-minute klaxon is not ideal.

Second, in light winds, small mistakes become large losses. A slow tack, poor sail shape, or wrong position on the river can cost far more than it would in a stronger breeze.

Third, the jib matters enormously. It is not a passive sail. It drives the boat, balances the rig, and helps the helm make the boat work.

Fourth, A-Raters reward skill. They have enormous potential, but they do not sail themselves. Simon’s performance in Carina showed exactly how much difference experience makes.

Finally, simply getting out there matters. You can read about A-Raters, restore them, polish them, varnish them, talk about them, photograph them and admire them from the bank. But the real learning happens when the boat is on the water, the klaxon has gone, and you suddenly realise you are pointing the wrong way on the start line.

A Step Forward for Champagne

For Champagne, this race felt like a milestone.

She is no longer just the boat we bought, the boat we are repairing, or the boat under the cover in the boat park. She is becoming our racing boat. We are beginning to understand her. Slowly. Imperfectly. With plenty of advice from people who know far more than we do.

That is one of the great strengths of sailing at a club like Upper Thames. There is history on the water, but there is also knowledge on the bank, in the safety boat, in the boat park, and in the people who have sailed these boats for years.

A Thames A-Rater is not the easiest boat to learn in. It is big, powerful, delicate, historic, technical, and slightly ridiculous in the best possible way. But that is also what makes it so rewarding.

Conclusion — Second Place, Twenty Minutes Behind, and Very Happy

We crossed the line in second place, around twenty minutes behind Carina.

On paper, that sounds like a large gap.

In reality, it felt like a success.

We had taken Champagne out for her first self-rigged race. We had made mistakes, corrected some of them, learned from others, and completed a long river race in very difficult light-wind conditions.

We had raced against a 1902 A-Rater sailed by an experienced Rater helm. We had duelled with an OK dinghy on the return leg. We had discovered that jib tension matters more than I had fully appreciated. We had learned that in almost no wind, patience is not optional.

Most importantly, we had taken another step from restoration project to racing boat.

And as we came back to the club, hot, tired, and a little wiser, I felt something very simple.

Champagne is going to teach us a great deal.

Read more about Champagne and my life sailing in https://pmrsailing.uk/

 

From First Boat to A-Rater: Why Sailing Clubs Need a Proper Progression Ladder

Every sailor starts somewhere.

For some, it is a slightly wobbly first sail in a club dinghy, wondering which rope does what, why the boom appears to have a personal grudge, and why the boat seems perfectly happy going in every direction except the one intended.

For others, it might be a youth training boat, a Wayfarer, a Toura, a Laser, a Topper, a Merlin Rocket, a National 12, or, one day, the magnificent and slightly terrifying sight of a Thames A-Rater with a huge rig towering over the river.

But the important question is this:

How do we help people move from that first uncertain sail to becoming confident club sailors, racers, crews, helms and custodians of historic classes?

Because if we do not create a route, many people never make the journey.

They learn the basics, sail a few times, perhaps race once, get confused, feel they are in the way, and quietly disappear. That is a great loss to them, to the club, and to the traditions that clubs like Upper Thames Sailing Club and Thames Sailing Club work so hard to preserve.

Sailing Is Not One Skill — It Is a Ladder

One of the mistakes we sometimes make is talking about sailing as if it is one thing.

“Can you sail?”

That sounds like a simple yes or no question. In reality, it is much more like asking, “Can you drive?”

Can you drive around a car park?
Can you reverse into a tight space?
Can you drive on a motorway in heavy rain?
Can you drive a lorry?
Can you drive a racing car?
Can you drive while someone shouts confusing instructions from the passenger seat?

Sailing is much the same.

There is a world of difference between sailing gently across the river in light winds, racing around marks in a mixed handicap fleet, handling a spinnaker, sailing a high-performance dinghy, foiling above the water, or crewing a Thames A-Rater in a gust with trees, moorings, stream and other boats all adding to the entertainment.

That does not mean the journey is impossible. It means it needs structure.

The First Step: Getting Afloat Without Terror

The first progression in sailing is not speed. It is not racing. It is not even elegance.

It is confidence.

At the beginning, a new sailor needs to understand the basics:

• Where to sit
• How to steer
• How the mainsail works
• How the jib works
• How to tack
• How to gybe
• How to stop
• How to come ashore
• How not to panic when the boat heels
• How to recover from mistakes

This is where the RYA training system is so useful. RYA Level 1 Start Sailing gives beginners a controlled introduction to sailing a dinghy. RYA Level 2 Basic Skills then builds the confidence and decision-making needed to sail in good conditions. For young sailors, the Youth Sailing Scheme provides a similar staged route through Stages 1 to 4.

That structure matters.

It gives new sailors a vocabulary, a safety framework and a sense that they are making progress. It also gives clubs a common starting point. Someone who has completed Level 2 should have a reasonable foundation, but that does not mean they are automatically ready for everything a club can throw at them.

Especially not on a river.

The River Adds Its Own Curriculum

Sailing on the Thames is not quite the same as sailing on a large open reservoir or coastal training area.

The River Thames has its own personality.

There are trees that steal the wind.
There are gusts that arrive like surprise exam questions.
There is stream.
There are moored boats.
There are shallows.
There are marks tucked into awkward corners.
There are wind shadows that make a perfectly good tack look like an act of optimism.

A beginner might complete a course and still need to learn the local water.

At Upper Thames Sailing Club, for example, there are skills that belong specifically to that stretch of river: short tacking, reading the wind on the water, approaching marks in light airs, sailing in traffic, and understanding how much room is really needed to turn.

This is where a club progression scheme could be extremely valuable.

The RYA courses give the foundation. The club then adds the local knowledge.

From Single-Hander to Double-Hander

A common next step is moving from a simple training boat into a double-handed boat such as a Toura, Wayfarer, Feva, Merlin Rocket or National 12.

This is a huge progression.

In a single-hander, you make your own mistakes. In a double-hander, you make them with a witness.

The crew and helm need to work together. The helm must communicate clearly. The crew must learn when to release, when to sheet in, when to move, and when not to pull the jib across too early during a tack.

I have learned that jib timing is not just a small detail. Get it wrong and the boat can slow, stall, or even try to turn back the way it came. Get it right and the boat flows through the tack beautifully.

A double-hander teaches:

• Communication
• Balance
• Crew movement
• Sail trim
• Teamwork
• Trust
• Recovery when things go wrong

This is also the stage where many adults become much better sailors. They start to understand not just what they are doing, but why the boat behaves as it does.

The Toura as a Training Bridge

A boat like the RS Toura is very useful in a club progression system.

It is stable enough to teach confidence, large enough for an instructor or experienced sailor to join in, and capable enough to introduce proper sailing skills. It can be used for first helming, crewing practice, race training, spinnaker preparation and family sailing.

For a club, this type of boat is not just a club boat. It is a bridge.

It can take someone from “I have done a course” to “I am ready to join in.”

That bridge is often the missing part of sailing development.

A person may have completed a course, but still not feel ready to race. They may not own a boat. They may not know who to ask. They may feel that everyone else knows what they are doing.

A progression scheme gives them a route.

The Racing Step: From Sailing Around to Sailing With Purpose

The next stage is club racing.

This is where sailing suddenly becomes much more interesting and, at times, much more confusing.

A new racer has to learn:

• Starting sequences
• Course boards
• Marks
• Port and starboard
• Windward boat and leeward boat
• Room at the mark
• How to keep clear
• How to avoid getting trapped at the start
• How to finish without accidentally sailing another lap

Racing can be intimidating, but it is also one of the best ways to improve.

A sailor who cruises around for an hour may repeat the same few habits. A sailor who races has to tack, gybe, round marks, avoid other boats, read the wind, make decisions and deal with pressure.

That is why clubs should make racing easier to enter.

Not easier to win.
Easier to enter.

There is a big difference.

A club progression programme could include supported first races, buddy crews, race briefing sessions, simplified course explanations, and post-race chats where someone explains what happened without making the new sailor feel like they have just failed a driving test on water.

The Spinnaker Stage: When the Laundry Goes Flying

Sooner or later, someone says the word “spinnaker”.

This is usually followed by either excitement or fear.

A spinnaker is a wonderful sail. It is also a large, colourful way of discovering whether the crew, helm and wind are still on speaking terms.

Learning to use a spinnaker is a natural progression for sailors who are comfortable in a double-hander. It teaches downwind sailing, apparent wind, communication, timing, boat handling and the importance of preparation.

A club could run spinnaker evenings using suitable boats in light winds. The aim would not be to turn everyone into an expert instantly. It would be to remove the mystery.

The first session might simply cover:

• What the sail is for
• How it is rigged
• What the pole does
• How to hoist
• How to drop
• What can go wrong
• How to recover when it does

That last part is important. People are often less afraid of trying something when they know how to untangle the mess afterwards.

Performance Boats: National 12s, Merlins and the Next Challenge

Once sailors are comfortable in training boats and club racing, some will want a more responsive boat.

This is where classes such as the National 12, Merlin Rocket or other performance dinghies can become part of the journey.

A National 12 is not simply a faster version of a beginner boat. It is more sensitive, more responsive and less forgiving. It rewards balance, communication and accurate sail trim. It also teaches sailors to feel the boat.

That is a major progression.

At this level, sailors begin to understand that small changes matter:

• A few centimetres of body position
• A slightly better tack
• A smoother gybe
• Better acceleration after the start
• Keeping the boat flat
• Holding speed through disturbed wind

This is where coaching becomes valuable. Not formal classroom teaching necessarily, but short, focused sessions with experienced sailors.

A club might run “try a class” evenings, where new sailors can crew in different boats and discover what they enjoy.

Some will love single-handers.
Some will love double-handed racing.
Some will love the teamwork.
Some will love the technical details.
Some will simply love going faster.

That variety is one of the strengths of sailing.

Foiling: A Different Branch of the Tree

Foiling is another possible progression, although perhaps not the most obvious one for every river club.

It represents a very modern branch of sailing: speed, balance, control and flight. For sailors who want a new challenge, foiling can be an exciting development beyond conventional dinghy sailing.

But it should be seen as one branch of the progression tree, not the only “advanced” route.

A sailor might progress towards foiling.
Another might progress towards team racing.
Another might become an excellent safety boat helm.
Another might become a race officer.
Another might become an A-Rater crew.

Progression does not have to mean everyone going in the same direction. It means every sailor can see a next step.

The A-Rater Problem: How Do We Keep the Tradition Alive?

Now we come to the thoroughbred: the Thames A-Rater.

These boats are not just racing dinghies. They are living history. They are spectacular, powerful, beautiful and slightly outrageous in the best possible way.

They are also not beginner boats.

A Thames A-Rater needs skill, teamwork and confidence. With a tall rig, large sail area and a crew of three, it is not the sort of boat where someone should simply be thrown in and told, “You’ll pick it up as you go along.”

Although, to be fair, that is probably how quite a lot of sailing has traditionally worked.

If clubs want to keep A-Rater racing alive, they need people. They need crews. They need helms. They need younger sailors, adult beginners, experienced dinghy sailors and practical people who are willing to learn.

The boats themselves may be historic, but the crew pipeline has to be deliberately created.

An A-Rater Progression Scheme

Clubs like Upper Thames Sailing Club and Thames Sailing Club could create their own A-Rater progression route. It would not need to replace RYA training. It would sit on top of it.

A possible pathway might look like this:

Stage 1: Basic Sailing Confidence

The sailor completes RYA Level 1 and Level 2, or reaches an equivalent standard through club training.

They can steer, tack, gybe, stop, launch, recover and understand basic safety.

Stage 2: Double-Handed Experience

The sailor spends time in a boat such as a Toura, Wayfarer, Feva, Merlin or National 12.

They learn crewing, helming, communication, balance and sail handling.

Stage 3: Club Racing Introduction

The sailor joins supported club races, perhaps with an experienced helm or crew.

They learn starts, marks, right of way, course boards and how racing works on the river.

Stage 4: River Skills

The sailor learns the local conditions: wind shadows, stream, short tacking, moorings, landing areas and the particular behaviour of the club reach.

This is especially important on the Thames.

Stage 5: Specialist Skills

The sailor is introduced to spinnakers, performance boats, race tactics and more advanced boat handling.

This stage builds confidence and awareness.

Stage 6: A-Rater Shore School

Before sailing an A-Rater, the sailor has a shore-based introduction.

This could include:

• Parts of the boat
• Rig layout
• Crew roles
• Safety considerations
• Launching and recovery
• How the boat differs from a normal dinghy
• What to do in a gust
• What not to touch unless asked

That last one may be particularly important.

Stage 7: First A-Rater Sail as Third Crew

The sailor joins an experienced crew in suitable conditions.

The aim is not racing glory. The aim is familiarity.

They learn where to sit, when to move, what to watch, how commands are given and how the boat feels.

Stage 8: Regular Crewing

The sailor becomes part of a crew pool.

They sail regularly, gradually take on more responsibility, and perhaps move between boats to learn different approaches.

Stage 9: Advanced Crew or Helm Development

Those who want to go further can learn more technical rig control, race strategy and eventually helming.

Not everyone needs to helm an A-Rater. Good crews are just as essential.

Clubs Need Their Own Courses

The RYA system is excellent for nationally recognised training. It gives structure, safety and consistency.

But each club has its own boats, water, traditions and racing culture.

That means clubs should not be afraid to create their own internal courses.

Not necessarily formal certificates. Not bureaucratic paperwork. Just clear pathways.

For example:

• “First Race Evening”
• “Toura to Racing”
• “Introduction to Double-Handers”
• “Spinnaker Confidence”
• “River Racing Skills”
• “A-Rater Crew Introduction”
• “Classic Boat Handling”
• “From Crew to Helm”
• “Safety Boat Support for Racing”
• “Understanding Club Race Duties”

These courses could be short, friendly and practical. They could run on summer evenings or quiet weekends. They could be led by experienced club sailors, instructors, race officers and boat owners.

The point is to make progress visible.

Why Progression Helps Retention

People stay in clubs when they feel they belong.

They stay when they know what to do next.

A new sailor who does Level 2 and then sees no obvious route may drift away. A new sailor who is invited to a supported race, then a Toura session, then a spinnaker evening, then a crewing opportunity, is much more likely to become part of the club.

Progression builds confidence, but it also builds relationships.

That is how clubs survive.

Not just through boats.
Not just through buildings.
Not just through racing calendars.

But through people being helped from one stage to the next.

The Tradition Will Not Preserve Itself

It is easy to admire a Thames A-Rater from the bank.

It is harder to create the next generation of people who can sail one.

If we want these boats to remain part of the living river, not just photographs in a clubhouse or memories from past regattas, we need progression.

We need beginners.
We need improvers.
We need crews.
We need helms.
We need patient mentors.
We need boat owners willing to invite people aboard.
We need clubs willing to make the route clear.

The journey from a first boat to an A-Rater may seem enormous, but it does not have to happen in one leap.

It happens one tack at a time.

First, you learn where to sit.
Then you learn how to steer.
Then you learn how to tack.
Then you learn how to race.
Then you learn how to crew.
Then one day someone says, “Would you like to come out in the A-Rater?”

And that may be the moment a sailor becomes part of a tradition much bigger than themselves.

Conclusion: Build the Ladder and People Will Climb It

Sailing clubs should not simply hope that new sailors will somehow find their way from beginner courses into racing fleets and historic classes.

Some will. Many will not.

A better answer is to build a ladder.

Use the RYA courses as the foundation. Add club-specific training on top. Teach the local water. Create supported racing. Offer crewing opportunities. Introduce performance boats carefully. Make the spinnaker less frightening. Let people experience boats they might never otherwise dare to approach.

And above all, create a pathway into the boats that define the club’s character.

For Thames river clubs, that must include the Thames A-Rater.

Because traditions do not stay alive because they are old.

They stay alive because new people are invited in.

Can you spot what's wrong?

 Can you spot what's wrong?

First problem discovered on Champagne No.21!

The rudder cassette wobbles before the rudder even starts to move

Not ideal when you're trying to steer one of the fastest boats on the Thames.

The restoration begins...

 

From Boat Park to Big Print: Creating an A1 Champagne Poster

Some Photographs Deserve More Than a Quick Scroll on a Phone

Most photographs now live very short lives.

They are taken, glanced at, perhaps cropped slightly, posted online, liked by three people, ignored by several hundred algorithms, and then quietly buried under the next batch of pictures.

But some photographs deserve better than that.

Some images need to come off the screen and become something physical. Something you can stand back from. Something you can put on a wall. Something that makes you stop for a moment when you walk past it.

That is the idea behind creating an A1 print of Champagne, our Thames A-Rater.

She has already appeared in photographs, videos, social media posts and restoration notes. She has sat in the boat park, been inspected, discussed, photographed, worried over and admired. But printing one of those images at A1 size changes the whole relationship with the picture.

It stops being “a photo of the boat”.

It becomes a statement.

It says: this project matters.

Why Print Champagne at A1?

There is something wonderfully bold about an A1 print.

It is not a small framed snapshot tucked away on a shelf. It is large enough to dominate a wall, large enough for details to matter, and large enough to make visitors ask, “What boat is that?”

That, of course, is the dangerous question.

Because anyone who asks may then receive a full lecture on Thames A-Raters, the Upper Thames Sailing Club, restoration work, the River Thames, racing history, old sails, new sails, varnish, covers, rigging, and why I now appear to own a very elegant floating financial responsibility.

A1 printing also links several parts of Philip M Russell Ltd together: photography, large-format printing, video promotion, sailing media, design, colour correction and storytelling. It is not just decoration. It is part of the wider Champagne story.

A good print can be used in the house, in the studio, at events, in video backgrounds, on social media and perhaps even as part of promotional material for the boat’s restoration journey.

Choosing the Right Image

The first challenge is choosing the photograph.

That sounds simple until you open the folder and discover that you have taken far too many pictures from slightly different angles, all of which seem important at the time.

The right image for a large print is not always the same as the right image for social media. A phone screen rewards bold, simple pictures with obvious subjects. A large print allows more subtlety. It can include background, texture, reflections, ropes, shadows, boatyard clutter and details that reward closer inspection.

For Champagne, I would be looking for one of several possible approaches.

The Hero Shot

This is the classic image: the boat looking elegant, purposeful and slightly dramatic. Ideally, the hull is clearly visible, the name is readable, and the photograph says, “This boat has history.”

A low angle can help here. Boats often look more impressive when photographed from slightly below deck level rather than from standing height. It gives the hull more presence and makes the mast, rigging and lines feel more important.

The Restoration Shot

This is not necessarily the prettiest picture, but it may be the most honest one.

A boat in the boat park, under a temporary cover, with marks, scratches, old fittings and work still to do can tell a better story than a polished glamour shot. It says: this is where the journey begins.

For a restoration project, that can be powerful. The print becomes a “before” image. Later, when Champagne is polished, varnished, re-covered, re-rigged and hopefully racing properly, we can compare the two stages.

The River Shot

The dream image, of course, is Champagne on the water.

A Thames A-Rater belongs on the river. The long hull, tall rig and classic proportions make most sense when she is sailing. The water gives reflection, movement and atmosphere. Trees, club pontoons and Thames light all help to place the boat in her proper world.

The difficulty is that sailing images are harder. The boat is moving, the light changes, the safety boat moves, the photographer moves, and everyone is busy trying not to hit anything.

Which is inconsiderate of them when one is attempting fine art.

Cropping for Impact

Once the image is chosen, cropping becomes the next major decision.

Cropping is not just cutting off the untidy bits. It is deciding what the photograph is really about.

For an A1 poster, the crop needs to work from a distance and up close. The main shape should be clear across the room, but the details should still reward someone standing nearby.

A wide landscape crop might suit a boat on the water, especially if the mast, river and reflections are all important. A portrait crop could work if the mast and rigging create strong vertical lines. A square crop might give a more modern gallery feel, although it can waste some of the drama of a long racing boat.

With Champagne, the long, elegant hull is one of the defining features. I would be reluctant to crop too tightly unless the image was focusing on a specific detail: the name, the bow, the rigging, a varnished section, or the texture of the deck.

The key question is simple:

What do I want people to notice first?

If the answer is “the whole boat”, the crop should give her space.

If the answer is “the name Champagne”, the crop can be tighter and more graphic.

If the answer is “the restoration story”, then a little boat park context may be worth keeping.

Resolution: Will the Image Survive A1?

This is where the cheerful artistic process meets the cold judgement of pixels.

An A1 print is large: 594 mm by 841 mm. That means a photograph which looks sharp on a phone can suddenly look disappointingly soft when printed big.

The good news is that modern cameras have made large printing much more achievable. A high-resolution image from a proper camera should usually produce an excellent A1 print, especially if the viewing distance is reasonable.

But there are still things to check:

• Is the subject genuinely sharp?

• Was the shutter speed fast enough?

• Is there motion blur?

• Was the focus on the boat or on a highly artistic piece of background shrubbery?

• Has the image been cropped so heavily that too few pixels remain?

• Is the file a full-resolution original, not a compressed social media version?

This is one reason I try to keep original image files carefully. The version uploaded to social media is rarely the version you want to print. Social platforms compress images, resize them and generally treat them with the care of a hurried person folding a sail in a gale.

For printing, always start with the best original file.

Colour Correction: What Looks Good on Screen May Not Print Well

Screens glow. Paper does not.

That single fact explains many printing disappointments.

An image that looks bright and punchy on a monitor may print darker, flatter or slightly different in colour. Blues can shift. Shadows can block up. Whites can lose detail. A lovely golden varnish tone can become orange if handled badly.

For Champagne, colour matters. The boat’s character is tied to her materials, her finish, the river environment and the feeling of classic sailing. The print needs to look natural, not over-processed.

Colour correction for a large print might include:

• Slightly lifting shadows so hull details remain visible

• Protecting highlights in the sky, sails or reflections

• Correcting colour cast from shade, cloud or artificial light

• Enhancing contrast without making the image harsh

• Keeping wood tones warm but believable

• Making sure whites are not too blue or too yellow

This is also where a calibrated monitor helps. But even without perfect equipment, test prints can be valuable. A small proof print may reveal that an image is too dark long before you commit to a full A1 sheet.

Sharpening: Enough, But Not Too Much

Sharpening is one of those editing tools that begins as a useful adjustment and can quickly turn into a crime scene.

A little sharpening helps bring out detail in ropes, fittings, planking, texture and lettering. Too much sharpening creates halos, crunchy edges and a rather artificial look.

For a boat poster, the danger is over-sharpening the rigging and high-contrast edges. Masts, stays, ropes and hull lines can start to look harsh if pushed too far.

The best approach is usually subtle output sharpening designed for print. The image should look crisp, but not brittle.

A classic boat should not look as though it has been processed through a video game engine.

Matte or Gloss Paper?

Paper choice changes the mood of the final print.

Gloss Paper

Gloss paper gives strong contrast, rich colours and deep blacks. It can make a photograph look dramatic and polished. For a striking image of Champagne on the water, gloss could work beautifully, especially if there are reflections and strong light.

The downside is glare. A glossy A1 print behind glass can become a mirror if placed opposite a window or light source. You may end up admiring your own reflection rather than the boat, which is not the point unless one has become dangerously vain.

Matte Paper

Matte paper gives a softer, more refined look. It reduces reflections and often feels more artistic or gallery-like. It can suit restoration images, black-and-white versions, softer river light and more subtle colour palettes.

For a classic Thames A-Rater, matte paper has real appeal. It can make the image feel less like a commercial poster and more like a piece of wall art.

Satin or Lustre

A middle option may be best: satin or lustre paper. It gives good colour and contrast without the full glare of gloss.

For Champagne, I would probably start with a satin finish. It gives the image presence, but still feels tasteful enough for the house.

At least, that is the theory. The danger with printing is that one test leads to another test, and before long the house begins to resemble a small maritime gallery.

Framing the Print

A1 prints need careful handling.

They are large enough to bend, crease and attract fingerprints from people who say, “I’m being careful,” while doing the exact opposite.

Framing gives the print protection and importance. A simple black, white, oak or dark wood frame could all work, depending on the image and where it will hang.

A mount can make the print feel more finished, although with A1 size the overall framed piece becomes quite large. Without a mount, the photograph feels more like a bold poster. With a mount, it feels more like a gallery print.

For Champagne, I would be tempted by a clean, simple frame that does not compete with the boat. The frame should support the image, not announce itself.

This is not the time for a wildly ornate gold frame unless we are deliberately going for “Victorian yacht club meets eccentric professor”, which, now I think about it, may not be entirely off-brand.

Where Should It Hang?

The location matters.

A print changes depending on where it is seen. A hallway image is passed quickly. A sitting room image is lived with. A studio image becomes part of a working background. A teaching room image starts conversations. A workshop image becomes inspiration and possibly a reminder of all the jobs still waiting.

Possible homes for the Champagne print include:

The House

This makes the print personal. It becomes part of family life and the story of the boat. It says that Champagne is not just a project but something we care about.

The Studio

This could work well as a video background. A large framed image of Champagne would immediately link the sailing videos, restoration updates and media work together.

The Workshop

This is more practical and perhaps more dangerous. A beautiful print in the workshop may inspire restoration work, but it may also collect dust, varnish fumes and the occasional airborne object.

The Office or Teaching Space

This could act as a conversation starter. It shows students and parents that Philip M Russell Ltd is not just about lessons and exam papers, but also about practical projects, photography, engineering, media and problem solving.

Why Printing Changes How You See Your Work

Printing a photograph is slightly unforgiving.

On a screen, you can swipe past weaknesses. On a wall, they stare back at you.

A printed image makes you notice composition, focus, colour, detail and mood in a new way. You see things you missed. Sometimes you notice mistakes. Sometimes you notice qualities you had not appreciated.

A photograph that seemed ordinary on screen can become powerful when printed large. Equally, a photograph that looked impressive on a phone can fall apart when enlarged.

That is useful.

Printing teaches you to become a better photographer. It forces you to slow down and ask better questions.

Did I stand in the right place?
Did I wait for the right light?
Did I leave enough space around the subject?
Did I capture the feeling of the moment?
Did I take a photograph, or merely collect evidence that something existed?

For Champagne, this matters because the project is not only about repairing and sailing a boat. It is also about telling her story well.

From Boat Park Record to Wall Art

The first photographs of Champagne are partly documentary. They record what she looked like when she arrived, what needed attention, what condition the cover was in, how the hull looked, where the fittings were, and what work might be required.

But some of those documentary photographs may also become art.

That is one of the joys of practical projects. The dividing line between record keeping and storytelling is very thin. A picture taken to show a repair may later become the image that defines a whole chapter of the restoration.

A boat in a boat park is not just a boat in a boat park.

It is anticipation.

It is work waiting to happen.

It is a slightly terrifying purchase decision made visible.

It is the beginning of a story.

Using the Print Beyond the Wall

An A1 Champagne print could also be more than decoration.

It could become part of the wider media project:

• A background for YouTube videos

• A display piece for sailing events

• A prop in restoration updates

• A photograph for social media posts

• A visual anchor for the Champagne brand

• A possible basis for smaller prints, cards or merchandise

• A reminder of how far the project has come

Large prints have presence. They help turn an idea into something tangible.

In a digital world, physical objects still matter.

The Emotional Difference of Holding a Print

There is a particular satisfaction in seeing your own photograph printed properly.

It is no longer just data. It has weight, surface, size and permanence. You can hold it. You can frame it. You can hang it. You can stand back and judge it.

That changes the way you value the image.

For me, printing Champagne at A1 would not just be about making a nice picture for the wall. It would be about marking the beginning of a new project: the restoration, sailing, filming and storytelling of a Thames A-Rater with history, elegance and a to-do list.

Quite a long to-do list.

Possibly several lists.

Some of them involving varnish.

Conclusion: A Photograph Becomes Part of the Story

Some photographs deserve more than a quick scroll on a phone.

They deserve paper, ink, space and attention.

Creating an A1 print of Champagne is not just a photographic exercise. It brings together sailing, restoration, design, large-format printing, storytelling and a little bit of domestic negotiation about wall space.

Choosing the right image, cropping it carefully, correcting the colour, sharpening it properly, selecting the paper and framing it well all help turn a photograph into something more permanent.

And perhaps that is the point.

Champagne is not just a boat we bought.

She is becoming a story we are telling.

An A1 print on the wall is one way of saying: this story has properly begun.

 

Small Gouges, Big Consequences: Repairing Champagne’s GRP Hull Before We Get Carried Away

There are moments in boat ownership when enthusiasm needs to be firmly grabbed by the collar and told to sit down quietly.

Champagne, our Thames A-Rater, is back on the river, looking elegant, dramatic and faintly capable of emptying a bank account if left unsupervised. She has already been water-tested and even had a brief return to racing, which is rather exciting. But before we get too carried away with sails, varnish, filming, racing and pretending we know exactly what we are doing, there is a small but important job that cannot be ignored.

Champagne has a couple of small gouges in her hull.

They are not enormous. They are not the sort of damage that makes everyone in the boat park gather round with concerned faces and mugs of tea. But they are there, and on a GRP hull, small damage is still damage.

Before we do too much sailing, they need to be repaired properly.

Why Small Gouges Matter

It is tempting to look at a small gouge and think, “That will be fine for now.”

This is one of those dangerous phrases, rather like:

“That screw is probably tight enough.”

“The weather should hold.”

“I’ll just do a quick coat of varnish.”

With GRP — Glass Reinforced Plastic — the outer surface protects the structure underneath. If the gelcoat is damaged and the laminate underneath is exposed, water can begin to get where it should not. On an older racing boat, especially one we want to restore properly, that is not something to ignore.

A Thames A-Rater may look delicate and glamorous, but underneath the long lines, tall rig and elegant history, she is still a working racing boat. She has to cope with launching, recovery, moorings, river banks, trailers, crew movement, water pressure, knocks, bumps and the occasional moment when the helm and physics disagree.

So the plan is simple: repair the gouges before they become bigger problems.

This Is Not Just Cosmetic

The first temptation with a hull gouge is to think of appearance. Of course, I want Champagne to look good. She deserves to look good. A boat called Champagne should not look as if she has been dragged through a hedge backwards, even if restoration sometimes feels rather like that.

But the real reason for repairing these gouges is protection.

A proper repair should:

• seal the damaged area;
• restore the surface profile;
• protect the underlying glass fibre;
• prevent water getting into the laminate;
• provide a sound base for gelcoat or paint;
• avoid a repair that cracks out again after the first few sails.

That last point is important. A quick smear of filler may look acceptable for about ten minutes. Then vibration, flexing, water and use can expose the fact that the repair was more cosmetic than structural.

The aim is not just to hide the gouge. The aim is to repair it.

Step One: Clean the Area Properly

The first job is cleaning.

This sounds dull, which is why it is important. Many workshop disasters begin because someone wanted to get to the exciting bit too quickly.

The damaged area needs to be washed thoroughly with soap and water to remove dirt, river grime and anything else that has collected on the hull. After that, it should be wiped with a suitable wax-and-grease remover or marine solvent.

This matters because epoxy and gelcoat do not bond well to dirt, polish, wax, grease or old contaminants. If the surface is not clean, the repair may only be attached in a theoretical sense, which is rarely enough when boats and water are involved.

This is the restoration equivalent of exam technique: the boring preparation often decides whether the final answer works.

Step Two: Bevel the Gouge

The next step is to prepare the shape of the damage.

A gouge with sharp vertical edges is not ideal for repair. The filler needs a good surface to grip, so the edges should be bevelled out using something like 80-grit abrasive paper or a small rotary tool.

The idea is to create a shallow, sloped edge rather than a hard-sided hole. A commonly suggested approach is a generous taper, sometimes described as around a 12:1 bevel for structural repairs. For a small surface gouge, the exact geometry may be less dramatic, but the principle is the same: do not just fill a narrow crack and hope.

A bevel gives the repair more bonding area.

It also helps avoid the classic problem where the filler feathers out too thinly at the edge and then cracks, chips or lifts later.

This is the point where patience starts to matter. It is very easy to think, “Surely that is enough sanding.” Usually, it is not.

Step Three: Mix the Epoxy to the Right Consistency

For the actual filling, the plan is to use a marine-grade epoxy system thickened with a suitable filler.

A resin on its own is too runny for this job. It needs to be thickened so that it can be pressed into the gouge and stay there without sagging. High-density filler or colloidal silica can be used depending on the exact repair and product system.

The texture often described is “peanut butter” or “mayonnaise”.

This is wonderfully unscientific language for something that is actually quite important. Too runny, and it slumps, drains or leaves gaps. Too thick, and it becomes difficult to press fully into the damage.

The mixture needs to be thick enough to hold its shape, but workable enough to spread and compact into the gouge.

As someone who spends a lot of time teaching science, I rather like this stage. It is chemistry, materials science and practical judgement all in one small pot. The ratios matter. The mixing matters. The working time matters. The temperature matters. And, as always, the instruction sheet is not just decorative paper.

Step Four: Fill the Gouge Slightly Proud

Once mixed, the thickened epoxy can be applied with a plastic spreader or putty knife.

The key is to press the mixture firmly into the damaged area. The aim is not to gently decorate the top of the gouge, but to fill it properly.

The repair should be left slightly proud — raised a little above the surrounding hull surface. This allows for sanding back later. If the filler is applied exactly level, any shrinkage, settling, sanding or small error may leave a shallow dip.

And a shallow dip will catch the light beautifully every time you look at it, just to remind you that you rushed.

A proud repair gives room for adjustment.

Step Five: Let It Cure

This is the most difficult part of many repairs.

Leave it alone.

Epoxy needs time to cure properly according to the manufacturer’s instructions. That may be around 24 hours, depending on the system, temperature and conditions. Cold, damp weather can slow curing. Warm conditions can shorten working time.

This is where boat restoration and British weather form a partnership designed to test character.

The repair may look ready before it is ready. It may feel tempting to sand too soon. But if the material has not cured properly, sanding can tear, clog, smear or weaken the finish.

So the glamorous restoration activity for this stage is waiting.

Possibly with tea.

Step Six: Sand It Flush

Once cured, the repair can be sanded down.

This is where the sanding block earns its keep. Sanding by hand without a block can create uneven surfaces, finger marks and soft hollows. A block helps level the repair to the surrounding hull rather than simply smoothing the bump.

The first stage can be done with something like 80-grit paper to bring the raised repair down carefully. Then finer grades, such as 150 to 220 grit, can be used to refine the surface.

The aim is a smooth transition between the repair and the original hull.

This is where touch can be more revealing than sight. A surface may look acceptable but still feel uneven under the fingers. Running a hand gently across the repair can reveal ridges, hollows and edges that the eye misses.

On a racing boat, fair surfaces matter. Champagne does not need unnecessary lumps, bumps or rough patches slowing her down — she will have enough trouble with me learning how to sail her properly.

Step Seven: Finish With Gelcoat or Paint

The epoxy repair needs a proper finish.

If the hull is gelcoated, a matching marine gelcoat can be applied over the cured and sanded repair to restore protection and appearance. If the boat is painted, then the repair needs to be finished in a way that is compatible with the existing paint system.

The finish is not just about making the patch disappear. It protects the repair from water and ultraviolet light and helps restore the hull surface.

Once the gelcoat has cured, it can be wet-sanded through finer grades — for example 400 grit and then 600 grit — before polishing with rubbing compound and wax to bring back the gloss.

This is the point where the repair starts to look less like a workshop job and more like part of the boat again.

Matching the Finish: The Awkward Bit

In theory, matching gelcoat is straightforward.

In practice, boats age.

White is not always white. Cream is not always cream. A hull that has spent decades in sunlight, water and weather may have faded, yellowed or changed tone. A brand-new repair can sometimes look cleaner than the surrounding area, which is both satisfying and annoying.

For Champagne, the aim is not concours perfection at this stage. The priority is a sound, watertight, strong repair. Appearance matters, but protection matters first.

That is probably going to be a repeated theme in this restoration:

Safety first.
Sailing performance second.
Beauty third.

Although, being Champagne, she will probably insist on beauty being at least joint second.

Practical Lessons From a Small Repair

This job is small, but it reflects the larger restoration project.

A classic racing boat is not restored in one heroic burst. It is restored through a long sequence of sensible decisions:

• fix the hull damage;
• check the rudder cassette;
• replace unreliable lashings with proper fittings;
• assess the rigging;
• protect the woodwork;
• sort the cover;
• inspect the sails;
• photograph and record the condition;
• decide what is urgent, what can wait and what is merely cosmetic.

The gouges are part of that bigger process.

They are a reminder that restoration is not just about dramatic before-and-after photographs. It is often about tiny jobs done properly before they become large jobs done expensively.

A Personal Reflection: The Boat Park Teaches Patience

One of the things I am learning about boat ownership is that boats are very good teachers.

They teach patience, because rushing usually creates more work.

They teach humility, because even a small job can reveal how much you still have to learn.

They teach planning, because the right repair depends on weather, materials, tools, curing times and the availability of a flat bit of space that is not currently covered in ropes, sanding dust or someone else’s trolley.

They also teach restraint.

The exciting part of owning Champagne is imagining her sailing properly again, tall rig pulling, long hull moving through the Thames, the whole boat looking elegant and slightly ridiculous in the best possible A-Rater way.

But before that comes sanding, cleaning, filling, curing, sanding again and finishing.

The river can wait for a proper repair.

Why This Matters for the Champagne Story

Champagne is not just another boat in the boat park. She is becoming a project, a story, a film series and hopefully a returning racing boat.

That means the small jobs deserve to be recorded too.

A video of a gouge being cleaned and filled may not have quite the drama of a race start, but it is part of the same story. Every repair helps bring her back. Every careful job reduces the chance of trouble later. Every photographed stage becomes part of her restoration record.

And for anyone following the project, it shows the real side of classic boat ownership.

Not just champagne moments.

Also sandpaper moments.

Conclusion: Repair First, Sail Later

The gouges in Champagne’s hull are not the largest problem we will face. They are not the most glamorous job. They will not make the most spectacular photograph.

But they matter.

A GRP hull depends on its protective surface. Damage should be cleaned, bevelled, filled, sanded and properly finished before water and use make the problem worse.

So before Champagne does too much sailing, these small gouges will be repaired properly with marine-grade materials and a patient approach.

It is not the most exciting part of bringing an A-Rater back to racing condition.

But it is exactly the sort of job that makes the exciting parts possible.

Before Champagne can sparkle on the Thames, she needs a little careful mending underneath.