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.”

 

Competent Crew: what’s this logbook all about, then?

If you’ve booked (or won!) an RYA Competent Crew course and someone’s mentioned “the logbook”, don’t panic. It’s not a 400-page confession diary where you have to admit every time you tied a knot that immediately untied itself.

In RYA-land, the “logbook” most training centres mean is the RYA Yachtmaster Scheme Syllabus and Logbook (G158). It’s a combined booklet that (1) tells you what’s in the RYA cruising course pathway and (2) gives you pages to record your sea time, miles, night hours, passages, and keep your certificates together.

Why you’re given it on Competent Crew

Even though Competent Crew is a practical “learn to be useful on a yacht” course, it sits at the start of a pathway. Many schools include the G158 logbook in the course fee, because it becomes your “paper trail” from first crewing trip right through to bigger qualifications later on.

What you actually use it for (in plain English)

1) Proof of experience (without relying on your memory).
Charter companies, future instructors, and examiners like to see sea time written down. The logbook gives you a consistent format for recording it.

2) A running tally for future courses/exams.
When you later look at Day Skipper / Coastal Skipper / Yachtmaster requirements, you’ll already have your trips and miles in one place. The RYA explicitly points to G158 for exam requirements and details in the Yachtmaster scheme.

3) Certificates don’t vanish into “that drawer”.
There are sections specifically intended for storing course completion certificates alongside your logged experience.

What to write in it (so it’s actually useful)

On (or after) each meaningful bit of sailing, jot down:

• Date

• From–to (even if it’s “Marina → Bay → Marina”)

• Vessel name/type & length (roughly)

• Role (crew, watchkeeper, etc.)

• Hours / miles

• Night hours (if any)

• Conditions & notes (a line or two: “reefed early; MOB drill; cooked chilli in a bouncing galley”)

• Skipper/instructor signature when appropriate (especially on courses)

Don’t overthink the miles. Nobody expects laser-measured nautical perfection on a training week—just a sensible record.

Quick myth-busting

• “Is it compulsory?” Not always, but it’s very helpful if you plan to progress. (Also: it stops you guessing later.)

• “Do I need to fill it in every day?” Ideal, yes. Realistic? Do it while it’s fresh—end of day works well.

• “What if I already keep notes on my phone?” Great—transfer the key bits across. The logbook is the tidy “official-ish” version.

The real reason it matters (especially for your Croatia trip)

Competent Crew is busy: sail handling, helming, lines, safety, life onboard… and it all blurs into a happy, salty montage. The logbook is how you turn that montage into evidence and confidence—plus it’s oddly satisfying to look back and realise you’ve gone from “What’s a halyard?” to “I can rig a fender without injuring anyone.”

 

From Dinghy Levels 1 & 2 to Yacht Competent Crew in Croatia

(or: how I discovered yachts have more rope than sense, and Croatia has more sunshine than my entire British childhood)

Having survived RYA Dinghy Sailing Levels 1 & 2, I now find myself preparing for RYA Competent Crew on a yacht in Croatia. This is the point where a sensible person would say, “Lovely, I can sail a dinghy now,” and go and have a cup of tea. Instead, I’m upgrading to a boat that weighs roughly the same as a small housing estate and comes with a kitchen. A kitchen. On a boat. Clearly this is either progress or a cry for help.

The good news is that dinghy training is a brilliant head start. You already understand the big ideas: wind awareness, points of sail, how sails actually drive the boat, and why the phrase “it’ll be fine” is usually followed by splashing noises. You know what a tack and a gybe are, you’ve probably practised them with the elegance of a folding deckchair in a breeze, and you’ve learnt that sailing is basically physics with occasional shouting.

The difference with a yacht is that everything is bigger, heavier, and more polite — right up until it isn’t. On a dinghy you feel everything instantly: a puff hits, the boat heels, you move, job done. On a yacht there’s a pause while the boat considers your suggestion, consults its committee, and then very slowly agrees to turn—just as you’ve started thinking you’ve broken it. Also, there are winches. Winches are wonderful devices designed to multiply your strength and your capacity for getting a line jammed at exactly the worst moment.

So where do you start preparing for Competent Crew? First: deck safety and habits. Croatia will be warm, sunny and gorgeous… which is precisely when people get casual. The golden rules still apply: one hand for the boat, keep lines tidy, keep fingers away from anything that bites (cleats, winches, blocks), and assume the boat will move at the worst possible moment. Practise moving around while staying braced, and get comfortable with the idea that “tidy” on a yacht isn’t neatness — it’s survival.

Next: terminology and roles, because yachts have more zones than an airport. Bow, stern, port, starboard — you know. Add in the yachty bits: cockpit, companionway, guardrails, coachroof, shrouds, spreaders. And learn the basics of what a crew member actually does: preparing fenders and warps, handling lines when coming alongside, listening properly during manoeuvres, and being the calm person who says useful things like “we’re drifting sideways” rather than unhelpful things like “ooh look, dolphins!”

Then: knots and line handling — the quickest way to look competent without actually being competent (a vital life skill). If you can confidently tie a bowline, clove hitch, round turn and two half hitches, and a figure-of-eight stopper, you’ll be useful from day one. On yachts, lines are thicker, stiffer, and occasionally behave like irritated pythons. Practise tying knots with cold hands, or at least while someone asks you questions and you pretend it’s fine.

After that, give yourself a gentle intro to winches and sail handling. Dinghies teach you trimming by feel; yachts add systems: halyards, sheets, travellers, reefing lines, and winches that make you feel powerful until you accidentally wind the wrong way and create a knot that requires a priest. Learn the basic flow: hoist, trim, ease, reef early, and understand the core safety rule: never step in a bight of rope unless you enjoy interpretive dance with ankle injuries.

Finally, because it’s Croatia, you’ll likely do plenty of med mooring (stern-to with a lazy line), which is a fabulous mix of sailing skill, boat handling, and reverse parking in front of an audience. Your prep here is mostly mental: keep calm, follow the plan, get fenders ready, know which line is which, and remember that shouting “we’re fine!” does not make you fine. It just makes you louder.

The aim of Competent Crew isn’t to turn you into skipper overnight. It’s to make you safe, useful, and confident — able to handle sails and lines, move around sensibly, help with berthing, and understand what’s going on without having to be translated from “yacht speak” into “normal human”. And if, by the end, you can do all that while also enjoying Croatia’s sunshine without turning the cockpit into a spaghetti incident… that’s not just competence. That’s victory.

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Quick prep checklist (Croatia edition)

Know / practise

• Points of sail, tacking/gybing flow (you’ve got this from dinghies)

• Core knots: bowline, clove hitch, round turn + two half hitches, figure-of-eight

• Basic deck safety: one hand for the boat, tidy lines, no feet in loops

• Winch basics: wrap direction, tailing, easing under control, no “death grip”

• Berthing basics: fenders/warps ready, listen to the plan, slow is smooth

Pack

• Sailing gloves (sun + rope burn is a combo nobody wants)

• Deck shoes with good grip

• Sun protection: hat, sunglasses with retainer, high SPF, lip balm

• Light waterproof (because boats enjoy irony)

• Refillable water bottle

 

Dinghy Show Diary: Rain, Rockets, and a Suspiciously Comfortable Deckchair

We set off for the RYA Dinghy & Watersports Show at Farnborough in the sort of rain that makes you start browsing kayaks “just in case”. Miraculously, we ended up parked so close to the entrance that I briefly wondered if my sat-nav had quietly upgraded itself to “VIP Mode”. First thing we clocked: the show had a big Sunsail presence, and yes—Ros and I absolutely did the responsible thing and sat in the deckchair like we belonged there. 

As we wandered past the Sunsail stand they were running a “win a holiday” competition, and I casually mentioned (in the humble, understated manner for which I’m famous) that I’d already won a Sunsail trip—Croatia, competent crew, 47-foot yacht, the whole “please don’t ask me to coil the lines in front of professionals” experience. The lovely Lucy on the stand smiled and said she knew it was fair because she’d been the one who pulled our names out of the hat. That prize was organised with Steve and Judy from Sailing Fairisle (excellent filming and editing—go and watch and see if you agree), and the best bit is that the whole thing has sparked a “let’s make Sunsail’s videos even better” mission. As a man who owns far too many cameras for someone who still occasionally ties knots that resemble modern art, I approve.

Inside, the hall was a glorious overload: boats of every shape and attitude, from practical club workhorses to shiny speed-machines that look like they’ve escaped from SailGP training. One minute you’re admiring a clever folding wooden boat, the next you’re staring at a three-masted whaler with a price tag that made me blink twice (“just £3000” is either a bargain or the start of a very specific lifestyle). And then—foilers. The kind of boats that don’t so much sail as politely ignore gravity. 

A big theme this year was birthdays. Everywhere you turned, someone was celebrating an anniversary, and the Merlin Rocket Association’s 80th was wonderfully hard to miss—there were big “80” signs and a proper gathering, complete with cake and cupcakes. We joined Stuart (the Chairman) and a crowd of happy Merlin folk for the ceremonial slice, which is the only kind of racing start I’m guaranteed to time perfectly. 

While we were there, I also noticed how many boats are now fitted with GNAVs—which, if you’re new to the term, is basically a kicker arrangement that frees up cockpit space and reduces the chance of your crew performing accidental yoga while tacking. (A noble cause.)

Naturally, we also performed the traditional boat-show ritual of trying on sailing tops. We tested famous brands, admired the 2026 “I’m here to race but also to look vaguely competent” look… and then bought nothing. This is what personal growth looks like: me walking away from expensive kit while whispering, “You already own two perfectly good waterproofs,” like a man talking down a dragon. Paul and I, meanwhile, were doing a more dangerous kind of shopping: quietly eyeing up what might one day be a successor to the Toura—not today, but “a few years’ time” is how all boat purchases begin before they sprint towards “why is there a new trailer on the drive?”

My favourite discovery (because I can’t help myself) was joining the Amateur Yacht Research Society (AYRS). If you’ve got even a slight weakness for the history of boats like the Thames A-Raters—the wonderfully bonkers designs that helped push dinghy development forward around the turn of the 19th/20th centuries—then AYRS is a rabbit hole lined with diagrams, foils, and deeply satisfying technical detail. Trapezes, sliding seats, sail development, waterline length and speed… all the stuff we now take for granted in modern boats, born from people asking, “Yes, but what if we made it faster?” It’s right in the overlap of sailing + science, and the journal alone is worth it.

And then there were the big names: RS with a fleet (the RS200 caught my eye as a possible “Toura-ish but racier” future option), Ovington with a new Phantom that had “Paul might like this” written all over it, and the Wayfarer stand which completely reset my brain. I arrived thinking a Wayfarer was… a Wayfarer. Turns out there are racing flavours, weekend flavours, cruising flavours, and even a keel version that’s basically “capsize-resistant by design”. We also had a proper play with the “hands-on” bits: the SailGP foil setup where you can try grinding (and discover new muscles), plus a mini sailing challenge with big air pumps making wind so you can practise hoisting sails and tacking indoors—proof that sailing people will happily recreate the outdoors inside a building, just to get more sailing.

I’ve come home with enough notes (and photos) to spin this into several posts: GNAVs and cockpit space, boat-spotting and future upgrades, why 1946 explains so many anniversaries, plus a proper round-up of the free seminars (weather reading, strategy, and the slightly comforting reminder that everyone else is also guessing what the wind will do next). For now: Farnborough delivered. Even in biblical rain. And if you see me in Croatia looking confident, just remember—there’s a strong chance I’m only holding the rope because it was handed to me and I panicked.

 Is it worth going to the free seminars and lectures at the Dinghy Show?

Absolutely — the free seminars/lectures are one of the best value bits of the Dinghy Show… as long as you treat them like a sailing session, not background noise while you’re “just popping past Rooster for a quick look” (famous last words).

Are the Dinghy Show talks actually “free”?

They’re included with your show entry (no separate ticket), spread across multiple stages/zones, so you can dip in and out all day. The 2026 show programme is laid out across three stages: Sunsail Main Stage, Knowledge Zone, and NextGen Zone.

When they’re 100% worth it

1) You want “steal-this-one-thing” coaching
A good 30–45 minute talk can save you an entire season of repeating the same mistake (hello, late tacks and panic gybes). The schedule spans performance, technique, wellbeing, rules, and more.

2) You’re the club’s “I’ll just Google it later” person
You won’t. You’ll forget. A live talk gives you:

• the key principle

• a memorable example

• and often a Q&A where someone asks your exact question out loud (thank you, brave stranger)

3) You’re buying kit (or about to)
Listen first, buy after. Talks can stop you purchasing something shiny-but-wrong (“These boots are perfect!” …for Antarctica).

4) You’re newer / returning / “65+ and learning”
The Knowledge Zone style sessions are ideal for turning confusion into confidence — especially when everything on the show floor is screaming: “NEW FOIL TECHNOLOGY!!!”

When they’re not worth it

1) You already know the topic and you’re there for networking
If your real mission is “corner a class association legend and ask about rigs”, do that.

2) You’re running on empty
If you’re tired/hungry/overheated, you’ll sit through a brilliant session and remember only: “there was a PowerPoint and I think sailing involves wind.”

3) You’re using talks as procrastination
If you’ve spent three hours “learning about downwind strategy” but haven’t visited the chandlers list you came for… that’s not education, that’s avoidance with seating.

How to get maximum value (without turning it into school)

• Pick 2–3 “must attend” sessions, then leave gaps for wandering.

• Arrive 5–10 minutes early for popular speakers so you’re not standing at the back like a spare rudder.

• Take one photo of a slide (only if allowed) and write three bullets in your phone: Idea / Drill / One change I’ll make.

• Use Q&A ruthlessly: ask one practical question you can apply next weekend.

• Plan your day from the schedule so you’re not sprinting between halls like it’s a pursuit race.

A very PMR Sailing take

Think of the talks as your “shore-based coaching session” before you spend money on kit or commit to a whole new way of sailing. If you come home with one habit changed, they’ve paid for themselves.

And yes, the show is on 21–22 February 2026 at Farnborough International — so if you’re reading this today, get your coffee, get your plan, and try not to buy anything you can’t lift with one hand. 

Heeling in a Sailboat

Heeling (Sailing Term)

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

What does “heeling” mean?

Heeling is when a sailing boat leans over to one side because the wind is pushing on the sails.

• If the boat leans away from the wind, that side is called the leeward side.

• The side facing the wind is the windward side.

• A little heel is normal — and often faster.

• Too much heel is slow, uncomfortable… and a handy way to rinse your crew.

Why do boats heel?

Wind creates force on the sails. That force acts above the waterline, so it produces a turning effect (a “heeling moment”) that tries to tip the boat over. The hull, centreboard/daggerboard, and your bodyweight act to resist it.

In simple terms:

• More wind / more sail area = more heel

• More crew weight outboard + flatter sails = less heel

Is heeling good or bad?

Both.

✅ A bit of heel can be good

• It can reduce wetted surface slightly

• The sails can “set” nicely

• The boat feels alive rather than stuck to the water like a barge

❌ Too much heel is usually bad

• The rudder can become less effective

• The boat “squirms” sideways (leeway increases)

• You end up steering with panic rather than precision

• On a river, you also drift towards that exciting new collection of reeds/boats/banks.

How do you control heeling?

The classic control toolkit:

1. Move your weight

   • Sit further out (hike) to keep the boat flatter

   • Move smoothly — sudden shuffles make the boat wobble (and the instructor sigh).

2. Sheet out

   • Ease the mainsheet a little to spill wind

   • This is often the quickest fix in a gust.

3. Depower the sail

   • Flatten the mainsail (kicker/vang, outhaul, Cunningham — depending on your rig)

   • Traveller down (if you have one)

   • Reefing on larger boats.

4. Steer smart

   • Heading up slightly into the wind can reduce power

   • Bearing away can increase power (and heel), so do it gently.

What does heeling feel like (for beginners)?

• The boat leans, your brain shouts “THIS IS THE END”, and your experienced crew says “Lovely breeze.”

• The trick is learning the difference between:

  • controlled heeling (fast, balanced, normal), and

  • unplanned heeling (slow, splashy, dramatic).

Common beginner mistakes

• Freezing in place instead of moving weight

• Pulling the sail in tighter when the boat heels (very common!)

• Steering wildly — which usually increases the problem

• Waiting too long to ease the sheet in a gust

Quick safety note

Heeling is normal. Panic is optional. If you’re unsure, ease the sail, keep hold of the boat, and reset calmly. Practise in steady conditions first — with safety cover and plenty of room.

Related terms: Windward, Leeward, Gust, Hiking, Depowering, Reefing, Capsize

 

Knot of the Week: The Halyard Hitch (aka “Halyard Knot”, “Halyard Shackle Knot”, sometimes “Sunfish Halyard Knot”)

There are knots that look heroic. There are knots that are heroic. And then there are knots that are basically a tiny, tidy, no-nonsense gremlin whose entire job is: hold this halyard onto that shackle and don’t make a fuss about it.

That’s the Halyard Hitch: a compact hitch used to attach a halyard to a shackle / headboard / sail attachment point at the top of a sail. It sits neatly, tightens under load, and doesn’t leave you with a big bowline “ear” that loves snagging on everything in the postcode.

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What it’s for (and why sailors like it)

Best use: attaching a halyard to a small shackle (or similar metal fitting) where you want:

• Compactness (hoist a bit higher; less metalwork clunking about)

• Security under load (it cinches up nicely)

• Less snagging than bulkier knots

Not the same thing as a “cleat hitch” (the one you use on a horn cleat to park the halyard). That’s a different knot entirely.

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How to tie the Halyard Hitch (simple stages)

You’re basically making two wraps around the standing part, then tucking the tail through and snugging it all down hard against the shackle.

1. Through the shackle
   Pass the working end through the shackle (or sail head fitting).

   
   
   

2. Wrap #1 around the standing part
   Take the working end around the standing part (the halyard itself).

   
   
   

3. Wrap #2 around the standing part
   Make a second wrap below the first, so you’ve got two neat coils.

   
   
   

4. Tuck back through the coils (near the shackle)
   Feed the working end back up and down through the two loops you’ve created, close to the shackle.

   
   
   

5. Dress it and pull it tight
   Pull the working end to start forming the hitch, then pull the standing part to seat it hard against the shackle.
   This knot rewards proper tightening—give it a real heave.

   
   
   

6. Trim and finish (optional but sensible)
   Trim the tail, and if it’s a synthetic line, melt the very end carefully to stop fraying (don’t melt the knot itself into a modern art sculpture).

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Common mistakes (aka “why did it slip?”)

• Not snugging it down properly. This hitch wants to be seated tight against the shackle. Half-hearted tightening = grumpy knot.

• Messy wraps. Keep the two turns neat and adjacent. If they cross, it’s harder to dress and tighten cleanly.

• Too little tail. Leave enough to work with, then trim once you’re happy.

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Halyard Hitch vs Bowline vs Buntline (quick pub chat version)

• Bowline: easy to untie later, but bulkier and snag-prone aloft.

• Buntline Hitch: also compact and popular for halyards; can be very secure but may be harder to undo after heavy loading.

• Halyard Hitch: compact and tidy specifically for halyard-to-shackle style attachment; very “purpose-built”.

If you like neatness, hate snags, and want your sail a smidge higher without extra hardware clattering about: this one earns its keep.