AYRS: Today’s “experimental” boats… tomorrow’s standard kit

One of the original Experimental boats - Vagabond, first with a trapeeze.

AYRS: Today’s “experimental” boats… tomorrow’s standard kit

If you ever want proof that sailing’s future is built by people who refuse to leave “well enough alone”, allow me to introduce the Amateur Yacht Research Society (AYRS) — proudly flying the flag for practical tinkering and slightly bonkers ideas that (annoyingly) keep turning out to be right. Their website strapline is basically “where the ideas are”, which is both inspiring and faintly dangerous to anyone who owns a toolbox and has access to epoxy.

What I love is the AYRS attitude: experimental doesn’t mean “daft”. It means testable. Measurable. Arguable over a cup of tea (or something stronger) with diagrams on the back of an envelope. And history keeps repeating itself: the things that look odd at first—new hull shapes, foils, rigs, control systems—have a habit of turning up a few years later as “best practice”… and then ten minutes after that as “class rules”. (If you listen carefully, you can hear the sound of older sailors muttering, “I told you so,” across the boat park.)

The AYRS homepage has a glorious snapshot from Weymouth Speed Week 2022, where the “boats” were back—real boats, not just boards and wings—and the line-up reads like a sci-fi casting call. SailRocket on the hardstanding, Icarus (James Grogono’s pioneering foiling catamaran) back on the water and sailing nicely on her foils, plus Kyle Stoneham’s Vampire Project boat described as very fast—even beating the board sailors on a light-wind day. And then there’s “Vari-Scari”, because of course there is.

Here’s the bit that matters for the rest of us mere mortals pottering about on rivers and club waters: the trickle-down is real. Today’s speed-week oddity becomes tomorrow’s “why wouldn’t you?” fitting. Hydrofoils? Once experimental, now mainstream in whole corners of the sport. Rigs and sail aero? The sort of thing you’d once expect from an America’s Cup shed… now discussed in ordinary sailing circles with alarming confidence. That’s what AYRS does well: it gathers the experiments, publishes the thinking, and makes it easier for good ideas to spread without everyone having to reinvent the same wheel (or foil) from scratch.

If you fancy a deep dive, AYRS also has a huge back-catalogue of downloadable booklets covering things like catamarans, hydrofoils, sails & aerofoils, dinghy design, sailboat testing, yacht wind tunnels, and more—proper rabbit-hole material for anyone who enjoys going to bed thinking about lift/drag ratios and waking up wondering if their boat could benefit from “just one small modification”. (Famous last words.)

So yes: today’s experimental boats really can be the standard for tomorrow’s boats. And whether you’re racing, cruising, or learning on the Thames like me, it’s a reassuring thought: sailing doesn’t stand still—it simply gets tested, argued about, improved, and then quietly copied. If you want a peek at what might be coming next, AYRS is a very good place to start. 

Where to sail in the early spring Rivers, sea or lakes.

 Early spring sailing is brilliant… and slightly masochistic. The winds can be punchy, the sunshine is optimistic rather than reliable, and the water is often at its coldest—which is why “I’ll just hop in and sort it out” is a terrible life choice. The RYA notes cold water shock is a serious risk in water below about 15°C, and spring water temps are often at their lowest.

Rivers (good if you want shelter and lots of “practice”)

Best for: dinghies and small boats, short sessions, skills (tacking, river tactics, boat handling).
Why spring works: the banks take the edge off the wind and you can sail even when the sea is a bit grim.

But… spring rivers can be lively. On the Thames, stream conditions can change quickly, and the Environment Agency uses warning boards advising unpowered boats not to navigate in stronger flows—plus weirs/sluices are hazardous.
So rivers are great when conditions are normal, and “character building” when the stream is up.

Spring river win: sheltered, familiar waters, quick bail-out options (tea in the clubhouse).
Spring river risk: strong stream, debris, cold water, and the temptation to cut corners near weirs (don’t).

Sea (best for big skies… pick sheltered water first)

Best for: keelboats/yachts, more confident dinghy sailors, anyone wanting longer passages.
In early spring, the smart move is sheltered coastal sailing: harbours, estuaries, and inshore waters where you can tuck in if it turns spicy.

Examples that suit early season “let’s ease back in” sailing:

• Chichester Harbour: naturally sheltered, plenty of water to explore, but it’s tidal—so passage planning matters.

• Other rivers/estuaries can be superb early season cruising grounds because they’re more protected than open sea coasts.

Spring sea win: consistent wind, proper sailing miles, glorious light for photos.
Spring sea risk: colder water, bigger consequences, tides/currents, and the “one more reach” that becomes a 3-hour epic.

Lakes & reservoirs (the early-season sweet spot for clubs and training)

Best for: club sailing, racing, training sessions, family sailing, predictable logistics.
This is where a lot of UK sailing really gets going in spring—clubs run early-season open meetings and you’ve got rescue cover, hot showers, and a café that understands you.

Think Grafham Water / Rutland Water / similar big reservoirs: plenty of room, organised sailing, and you’re not fighting a tide. (You may still fight the wind and your own rigging decisions.)

Spring lake win: controlled environment, safety boat cover, easy “one more lap”.
Spring lake risk: gusts funneling across open water, and water that is still absolutely freezing.

Quick rule-of-thumb for early spring

• Newer sailor / rusty skills? → Lake/reservoir first, river second, sea once you’ve got your systems back.

• Confident crew + good kit + good forecast? → Sheltered sea/estuary is a joy.

• If the river’s on strong stream boards → choose a lake (or the pub, which is also sheltered).

Kit & safety (the boring bit that keeps you alive)

• Dress for immersion (cold water shock is the early danger, not “getting a bit chilly later”).

• Check local river condition boards / notices if you’re on the Thames system.

• Tell someone your plan, keep sessions shorter, and keep the “capsize plan” simple.

 

Race scoring at the club: pen-and-paper or iPads and phones?

There’s a special kind of romance to race scoring with a clipboard: the wind flaps the paper, the pencil refuses to write because it’s damp, and someone shouts “SAIL NUMBER 42!” while you’re busy trying to stop the results sheet making a bid for freedom. It’s traditional. It’s character-building. It’s also the reason half of us have handwriting that looks like a seismograph during an earthquake.

So… should we keep the clipboard and carbon paper, or move to iPads/phones and let the gadgets do the heavy lifting?

What pen-and-paper still does brilliantly

1) It always works. No Wi-Fi. No battery. No “app update required”.
2) It’s fast for the basics. If you’re recording simple finish order for a small fleet, a decent results sheet and a competent scribe is hard to beat.
3) It’s transparent. Anyone can see what was written down, when, and by whom.

But paper has two enemies: water and humans. Water turns your ink into modern art; humans transpose sail numbers, miss a boat, forget a code (DNF/DNS/OCS), or drop a sheet overboard at the precise moment you finally got it right.

What phones and tablets do brilliantly

Used well, digital scoring is less “fancy tech” and more “fewer late-night re-checks”.

1) Fewer transcription errors. You enter once, not twice (on the water → then again into a computer later).
2) Results can appear immediately. Some systems publish online as soon as you hit “save”, which is great for keen racers and even better for impatient ones. HalSail, for example, is designed for entering results on any device and seeing them online straight away.
3) Handy scoring rules. Proper race-scoring software handles series scoring, discards, codes, ties, and multiple scoring systems without needing someone who “knows Excel”. Sailwave explicitly supports configurable scoring systems and is self-contained (no Excel required).

The hidden gotchas with going digital

Digital isn’t automatically better; it’s better when the system is set up for real race-day life:

• Screen + sunlight + wet fingers can be a comedy trio.

• Battery anxiety is real (especially on cold days).

• One person who knows the system is a single point of failure.

• Connectivity can be patchy (committee boat / far end of the river).

If you choose an online-first tool, look for an approach that still works sensibly when signal is weak (or have a paper fallback).

A very sensible middle way (my favourite): “Belt-and-braces scoring”

For most clubs, the sweet spot is:

On the water: record finish order/times on paper and enter into a phone/tablet if practical.
Ashore: publish from the digital system, but keep the paper sheet as the audit trail.

This gives you:

• resilience (paper backup),

• speed (digital publishing),

• and fewer “we’ll fix it later” moments.

Practical tool options that clubs actually use

Here are three common “levels”, from simplest to more feature-rich:

1) Start simple (desktop/laptop after racing): Sailwave
Great if you’re happy entering results ashore and want robust series scoring and publishing support. Sailwave is designed as dedicated scoring software and doesn’t require Excel.

2) Online scoring and quick publishing: HalSail
Designed to run in a browser on phones/tablets/laptops, with immediate online results and even “on the water” entry options.

3) Free Windows program (offline): Hal’s Race Results
A downloadable Windows option if you want to keep everything local/offline, with the online option available separately via HalSail.

A quick decision guide for your club

Choose paper-first if:

• small fleets, informal racing, minimal series complexity,

• lots of volunteers rotating through duty,

• you want maximum robustness with minimum training.

Choose digital-first if:

• multiple fleets, pursuit races, handicap maths, discards, championships,

• you regularly publish results and want them quickly,

• you’re tired of retyping everything after racing.

Choose hybrid if:

• you want speed and certainty,

• you often have new volunteers on duty,

• you race in conditions where screens and signal are… optimistic.

A tiny checklist if you do go digital

• One device is dedicated to scoring (not also taking photos of “that capsize”).

• Power bank + charging cable live in the race box.

• Waterproof case or zip pouch.

• A printed “how to” sheet for the scoring workflow.

• Paper backup sheet always on hand (because sailing)

 

Using pulleys to change rope tensions (without growing biceps the size of fenders)

There’s a moment in every sailor’s life when you pull on a rope with all your dignity, and the boat replies by doing… absolutely nothing. That’s when you discover the ancient maritime truth:

If you can’t pull harder, add a pulley.
(Preferably two. Or six. Sailors love pulleys the way photographers love lenses.)

Pulleys on boats are usually called blocks. And the reason we use them is simple: they let you trade pulling force for pulling distance. You don’t get something for nothing — unless you’re counting friction, which you absolutely are, because friction always turns up uninvited.

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The core idea: mechanical advantage (a.k.a. “purchase”)

When you rig a rope through blocks, you can make a system where your pulling force is multiplied.

• A 2:1 purchase means: you pull with half the force, but twice the rope.

• A 4:1 purchase means: quarter the force, four times the rope.

It’s like gearing on a bike. Easy gear = more pedalling, less pain.

Rule of thumb:
✅ Mechanical advantage ≈ number of rope parts supporting the moving block
(If you’re staring at a spaghetti rig and muttering “how many bits of rope are holding that thing up?”, you’re doing it correctly.)

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A quick tour: 1:1, 2:1, 3:1, 4:1 (and why sailors keep going)

1:1 (no advantage)

You pull. The sail moves. You feel strong. The boat giggles.

2:1 (the “ohhh, that’s better” setup)

One moving block attached to the thing you’re hauling (boom, sail, etc.). Rope goes from a fixed point → around the moving block → to your hand.

You pull 2 metres of rope to move the load 1 metre, but it feels about half as heavy (minus friction).

3:1 (when you want more help but still want to rig it before tea)

Often used in cunning ways (hello, cunningham and kicker/vang systems). It’s a common “enough power without needing a degree in macramé” setup.

4:1 (dinghy control lines’ comfort zone)

Very common on mainsheet systems, kickers, outhauls, and downhauls on modern dinghies — especially when you’d rather adjust sail shape than do a deadlift.

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“But why doesn’t my 4:1 feel like 4:1?”

Because friction is the taxman of sailing systems.

Every time the rope:

• bends around a sheave,

• rubs on a cheek block,

• goes through a cleat,

• or runs at a weird angle…

…you lose efficiency. A theoretical 4:1 might feel like 3:1 (or 2.5:1 on a tired, salty Tuesday).

How to reduce friction:

• Use decent ball-bearing blocks where it matters

• Keep leads fair (straight-ish)

• Use the right rope diameter for the sheaves

• Replace furry, flattened lines (yes, it’s emotionally difficult)

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Distance vs force: the trade you’re making

If you rig more purchase:

• ✅ Easier to pull

• ❌ More rope to pull in

• ❌ More rope in the cockpit (also known as “tripwire collection”)

• ❌ More blocks, more friction, more things to rattle and mock you

So the “best” system is usually the one that’s:

• powerful enough to adjust under load,

• simple enough to rig when it’s cold,

• tidy enough that you don’t accidentally tie yourself to the boat.

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Real boat examples (where you’ll actually meet these systems)

• Mainsheet: often 3:1 to 6:1 in dinghies (higher in bigger boats), sometimes with ratchet blocks to reduce hand load.

• Kicker/Vang: commonly 4:1 to 12:1 (often cascaded) so you can control leech tension without turning into a gym membership.

• Cunningham/Downhaul: frequently 2:1 to 6:1 because sail cloth doesn’t care about your feelings.

• Outhaul: 4:1 is common on modern rigs.

• Jib sheets: usually 1:1 (you need speed), but sometimes assisted by winches on bigger boats.

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Bonus: cascades (when you want power without a tower of blocks)

A cascade is basically purchases stacked together, like:

• a 2:1 pulling a 4:1 to make 8:1 overall.

It keeps things compact and can reduce the number of blocks travelling up and down the boat like a lift system in a shopping centre.

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A tiny practical “spot the purchase” trick

If you’re on the bank (or in the boat) and want to estimate the purchase:

1. Find the moving part (the block attached to the boom/sail/control).

2. Count how many rope segments are pulling that moving bit.

3. That’s roughly your mechanical advantage.

Then subtract a bit for friction and optimism.

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The sensible conclusion (and a mildly heroic one)

Pulleys don’t create free energy — they create options. They let you adjust sail controls precisely, repeatedly, and without needing to ask your crew to “just hang on a sec while I grunt at this rope.”

And if anyone tells you adding another block is cheating, remind them that sailing is 90% applied physics and 10% trying not to drop things in the river.

 

Sailing Term: Downhaul (the “make the sail behave” rope)

If your sail looks like it’s trying to cosplay as a baggy bedsheet, the downhaul is one of the controls that helps you restore dignity.

Definition (plain English):
A downhaul is a line (sometimes a simple rope, sometimes a fancy little purchase system) used to adjust tension along the luff — the leading edge of the sail. On many dinghies it’s doing the same job people often call the cunningham: tightening the front of the sail to change its shape.

What it actually does on the water:

• Pull it on (more tension): flattens the sail, moves the draft forward, and helps in stronger winds (less drag, less heeling, fewer “why are we lying down?” moments).

• Ease it (less tension): allows a fuller sail shape for lighter winds (more power when the breeze is feeling shy).

Where it matters most:

• Upwind: when sail shape is everything and boatspeed is a jealous god.

• Reefing (mainsail): helps pull the sail down and keep things tidy when you reduce sail area.

https://pmrsailing.uk/sailing-lessons/sailing-terms-list/Downhaul.html

 

Knot of the Week: The Sheet Bend

If the bowline is the King of Knots, then the sheet bend is the friendly matchmaker. It’s what you use when you’ve got two ropes that need to become one rope, especially when they’re different thicknesses — like a chunky dock line meeting a weedy bit of dinghy cord and trying not to look awkward.

It’s called a sheet bend because sailors used it for attaching a sheet (control rope) to the corner of a sail. These days it’s still very much alive in dinghy sailing, kayaking, camping, climbing-adjacent activities (with caveats), and “someone forgot the right length of rope” moments. At Upper Thames Sailing Club it’s also a classic: you’ll see it when people are extending painter lines, lashing something temporarily, or fixing a problem with a rope that is definitely too short.

When would I use it?

• Joining two ropes of different diameters (its superpower)

• Making a temporary longer line (e.g., towing, tying to a buoy line, retrieving something)

• Quick fixes where you want a join that’s reliable but still easy to undo

If you want extra security (slippery rope, very different thicknesses, or anything you don’t want to swim after), you use its bigger, slightly more cautious sibling: the Double Sheet Bend.

How to tie a Sheet Bend (simple stages)

1. Make a bight (a U-shape) in the thicker rope. Hold it so it looks like a little looped bridge.

2. Take the thinner rope and pass the end up through the bight from underneath.

3. Wrap the end of the thinner rope around the back of the bight.

4. Bring the end back round and tuck it under itself (so it nips against the standing part of the thinner rope).

5. Dress it (pull it neat) and pull tight on both standing parts.

✅ Memory check: “Up through the bight, round the back, under itself.”

What can go wrong?

• Wrong tuck: If you don’t tuck the end under itself, you’ve invented a new knot called The Future Disappointment.

• Too little tail: Leave a sensible tail (especially with slippery modern ropes).

• Not dressed: A messy knot is a weaker knot. Like a sail hoisted with the batten pocket inside out.

Double Sheet Bend (the ‘belt and braces’ version)

Tie it exactly the same… but instead of making one wrap around the bight, make two wraps before tucking under itself.
It grips better on different rope sizes and is kinder when things get wet, wiggly, and annoying.

Quick safety note

The sheet bend is excellent for joining ropes — but if this is critical load / life safety stuff, follow the proper guidance for your activity and rope type. For dinghy sailing jobs, it’s brilliant. For “hold my bodyweight over a ravine”, pick the right knot and system for that job.

 

Why are dinghies swapping the trusty Vang for a GNAV?

Wandering around the Dinghy Show, I started playing a little game: “Spot the kicker.” Not the bloke offering free stickers (though he was enthusiastic), but the boom vang—the bit of rigging that pulls the boom down and stops the mainsail turning into a baggy windsock the moment you ease the mainsheet. On the older designs, it’s right there: a very visible chunk of control stringage (and bruising potential) living below the boom. On a surprising number of newer boats, though, the kicker had apparently… vanished.

It hadn’t gone missing. It had simply been spelt backwards and moved to a more civilised address.

A GNAV is basically an inverted vang: instead of pulling the boom down from underneath, it pushes it down from above, using a compression strut between mast and boom. Same job (boom control, leech tension, twist control), different geometry—and crucially, far more space in the cockpit because you’re no longer trying to limbo under a kicker system at the worst possible moment. Manufacturers and chandlers are very open about this being the headline benefit: removing the conventional kicker gives a “huge gain in cockpit space”.

And that cockpit space isn’t just about comfort (though I’m absolutely in favour of any innovation that reduces the number of times my kneecaps meet stainless steel). On modern dinghies—especially the ones designed around active manoeuvres, rapid tacks, and crew moving forward aggressively—clutter below the boom is a genuine performance penalty. One review of a performance dinghy with a GNAV points out it helps the crew stay right forward because there’s more room to move. In plain English: less rig to trip over, faster crew movement, cleaner boat handling.

There’s also a “modern rig” design logic at play. As boats evolve, there’s been a steady push towards cleaner control layouts, fewer snag points, and systems that are easier to operate under load. GNAVs aren’t magic—your mainsail still needs proper leech control—but by moving the hardware above the boom, you can often create a tidier, more ergonomic set-up for controls and crew. (And anything that reduces the chance of snagging a toe strap, a buoyancy aid toggle, or your dignity is a win.)

So why don’t all boats have a GNAV? Because sailing, like plumbing, is full of compromises. A GNAV introduces compression loads through that strut and into mast/boom fittings, and it can influence how forces are fed into the mast (i.e., you’re pushing rather than pulling). That’s not automatically a problem—GNAV systems are widely sold and supported—but it does mean the boat needs to be designed (or sensibly modified) to take those loads. Older designs were engineered around the traditional vang geometry, and class rules or “if it isn’t broken…” conservatism can keep the old system in place.

Which is why the Dinghy Show pattern makes perfect sense: newer boats (or newer iterations of designs) are increasingly built with GNAV-friendly layouts, while older designs keep the kicker because it’s familiar, class-legal, easy to source, and already works. Plus, many of us have spent years perfecting the art of not sitting on the vang tackle—why give up that heritage now?

Bottom line: the move from vang to GNAV is mostly about space, movement, and modern ergonomics, with the same underlying purpose—controlling boom angle and mainsail twist—just achieved in a way that’s kinder to crews, knees, and frantic tacks. And if nothing else, it gives you one more sailing word to explain to unsuspecting family members: “No, it’s not a typo. Yes, it really is vang backwards.”