Our new sailing shop has appeared and disappeared and we wonder if we will go sailing in the near future.
Let’s talk about how Mother Nature has me on speed dial to deliver her wettest, wildest tantrums. Storm after storm – some with fancy names, some with bad attitudes – have turned the land into a sponge and the rivers into racetracks. “No sailing on Sundays,” the red signs scream as the River Thames struts its stuff at breakneck speeds. Not a boat in sight, unless it’s on a secret mission to join a high-speed chase.
Flow Meters and Frustrations
Even the little River Gade near my house is full and fast-flowing. As I wade around my flooded local river, armed with a flow meter like a mad scientist, I can’t help but ponder my bad luck. Measuring its flow at 0.79 m/s, I think, “Wouldn’t this make a great lazy river ride?” But alas, the only lazy thing here is my boat, snug under its cover, sheltered from the relentless rain. I want to try this flow meter on the River Thames. I want to see if I can get into the Science of Sailing. It seems there is little point in going to the sailing club just to look at the boat and play with sensors.
So, what’s a sailor to do when sailing is off the cards? No Power or Safety boat courses, either – cancelled, just like my dreams of open waters. My son, bless his tech-savvy heart, is deep into the IT system of our club, plotting camera placements like he’s rigging up the Big Brother Boat Edition. He is learning the IT system for the club ahead of his first Committee meeting. My wife and son did get to the sailing club for a day but that was to ready the club for the winter.
Mast Mysteries and Camera Capers
Speaking of tech, we’re on a quest to measure the mast. You’d think it’s simple, but it turns out the RS Sailing website is as clueless as we are. A deep dive into the cyber-sea of information left us knowing the height above the shear (whatever that is) but still scratching our heads.
Paul’s grand vision involves threading a camera lead down the mast’s mysterious depths, aiming for aerial shots that turn us into sea-faring reality stars. Maybe the aim is to show the crew scampering across the boat like ants. I must note, I don’t scamper across the deck. That’s official. I glide, thank you very much.
Sailing Shop Essentials: From Lego Boats to Real Deals
Back to our Sailing Shop Essentials, our website’s hot search term is a hearty review of the RS Toura. Plans for filming are brewing, but Mother Nature keeps photobombing us. My coping mechanism? Cozying up with RYA books and playing with a Lego boat, pretending I’m navigating through less turbulent times.
This unexpected downtime has birthed the idea ofa Sailing Shop on our website. It’s going to be a cozy corner where you can snag all the sailing shop essentials we’ve been chatting about. Cameras, gear, and all that jazz are on the way, but for now, they’re just waiting for their cue – and a break in the clouds. I have promised myself to add a new item each day. I will be reviewing what we have used and how effective it has been. time will tell when I start and how it will go
So stay tuned, landlubbers, and remember, even when the sailing’s stalled, the shopping sails on!
Post-Storm Sailing: A Not-So-Perfect Day before the Club AGM
The Club AGM and a Storm Surge on the river stops all sailing, so we content ourselves by going for a walk along the River Thames.
After Storm Ciaran’s exit stage left, Saturday morning beckoned with a deceptive sparkle, the kind that whispered, “Seize the sails!” Alas, the wind was more mischievous than it let on. The sun shone brightly. And as I went outside to get the milk in. The wind was blowing. I thought to myself. This could be a good day to go sailing.
The River’s Mood Swings
Eagerly checking the Upper Thames Sailing Club’s live feed, I was met with a picturesque scene. Yet, the Thames, swollen and assertive, was having none of it. The would-be sailors from the cancelled Power Boat Level 2 course could only nod in resignation.
Heeding the Warnings
Warnings flickered on the screen: “Keep off the Thames.” The river, it seemed, was sprinting faster than an Olympian. Red signs swayed in agreement, and I, somewhat reluctantly, tipped my hat to their advice. Sailing was not on today’s or tomorrows menu.
Club AGM Adventures and Rainy Rainbows
Come Sunday, it was the Upper Thames Sailing Club‘s139th AGM and Prize Giving. The Prize Giving – an event we were too new to participate in truly, was bypassed by us in favour of a walk along the Thames. The sky, ever a fickle fellow, tricked us out of our raincoats and greeted us with cheeky droplets instead.
We walked downstream following the river surge towards where Paul and the team nearly had a close encounter with the bridge. We waded down a muddy path from the clubhouse to the HMS Marina, showing off the Duffy Electric Day Boats. From there, it was a very narrow walk past large, expensive houses down to and across the bridge. We wanted to get some photographs of the Marina and a clear view of the river.
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The return the the Club AGM
At the bridge, we decided to turn around and, instead of walking back along the muddy path, walking through a shortcut to the Station and civilisation. This was not a good idea as the path was far from short, and as we progressed, the path became muddier and muddier. But not too soon, we popped out into the Station Car Park, where we were greeted with a sign “Have you Paid?” Progress was quick along made-up pavements, and soon we were back at the clubhouse and the Club AGM.
The Final Screw and Committee Debuts
We triumphed over the last rebellious screw in our RS Toura just as a rainbow crowned our efforts.
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Yet, our victory over hardware was quickly overshadowed by a downpour that herded us to the clubhouse just in time for the Club AGM commencement. Paul’s ascent to becoming a committee member was something of a hand-raising coup, elected by virtue of his willingness and a scarcity of volunteers.
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And with that, he was bestowed the helm of IT and the Sailing Club management software. He has lots of ideas for new events to promote the club and to increase the membership. So here’s to new beginnings and windy days and not-so-strong currents.
A day of installation of the Genaker and the Jockey Wheel
Installing the genaker and the jockey wheel. On a bright mid-October morning, we set out for the sailing club. We were armed with our new jib sock, a jockey wheel for the launching trolley, and our enthusiasm for boating. As we joined the club so the current IT guy is moving away. Paul and I met up with him at the boat club, exchanged IT history stories. Since no other volunteers had emerged had seen us promoted to looking after the Sailing Clubs IT at the next AGM in two weeks’ time. That done, Paul and I were ready to tackle the challenges ahead, both on and off the water.
Surprisingly good weather
Despite the country being swept by rain, we were fortunate to have fluffy blue clouds and occasional sunshine to accompany us. This day was all about Installing the Genaker and the Jockey wheel. Our first task was to get the boat ready, and we wasted no time.
Adding the Jockey Wheel
Paul hoisted the boat up on its launch trolley, providing me the perfect opportunity to measure up and drill holes for the jack mount. With a new drill bit and a battery-powered drill, the process was swift and smooth. Soon the jack was installed, allowing the boat to be parked in a high position for effective water runoff.
The Genaker
Next on the agenda was the Gennaker sail, a task that proved to be more intricate. Plugs had to be removed, pulleys fitted, and various strange-looking devices installed. While Paul sorted through the fittings, I navigated the interior of the boat. I started removing plugs and trying to reach awkward spaces. A bolt slipped and vanished into the abyss of the centreboard mechanism, a small setback that resulted in a mental note to purchase replacements.
With a bit of ingenuity involving an oar, we managed to thread a rope through the sail chute. This task was made challenging by the length of the chute. But teamwork prevailed, and soon all the ropes were in place.
The fittings secure and the ropes attached, we hoisted the Gennaker sail. In the calm of no wind, we got the sail up and down and meticulously stuffed it into the chute, completing the boat’s setup. Content with our progress, we covered the boat. We returned it to its spot in the boat park, this time with ease.
Merlin Rocket and the A-Rater
Curiosity led us to a Merlin Rocket, turned upside down, in the midst of restoration. The boat’s mahogany planks gleamed under the twelfth coat of varnish, a testament to the owner’s dedication. He shared with us another project, Dainty Too, a 1920’s A-Rater in dire need of repair. The hull, stripped to bare wood in places and riddled with holes of rotten wood, showcased the extensive work ahead. It would be a year or two before Dainty Too graced the waters again. However, the promise of its future glory was evident.
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As we left the boat park, our roles as IT managers and sailors intertwining, we were reminded of the diverse skills and passions that the world of sailing brings together.
First Day Sailing: A Day packed with anticipation, salopettes, and surprise lessons in the art of going downstream without meaning to.
Getting There
The morning was as still as a monk in meditation. Great for sunbathing, not so much for sailing. The skies were clear but hardly a breeze. Not necessarily the best day to learn to sail. My sons and I packed the car with salopettes and waterproof shoes and then after my wife had returned from church, her church warden activities done, we set off for the Sailing Club.
Petrol was needed and this very much set the tone for the day. We visited Sainsburys along our route and discovered that the last pump would only do cards (no problem). Except that it was because it rejected all by cards and my wife’s. Unable to go back we had to leave thee petrol station and rejoin the queue to enter again aiming for another pump. This too, refused my cards but would allow the kiosk. Having filled up my son went in to pay (with my money) and discovered that these two pumps were known not to accept cards.
So, we travelled around the M25 and M40 to the Sailing club without any more ado. Arriving at the Sailing Club felt like entering a sanctuary for boat lovers. We commenced getting the boat out of its tight parking space and taking the mast down to sort out the jib wire which had been pulled to the top of the mast along with the Genaker rope. We unpacked, and with a blend of manual reading and intuitive guesswork, prepared our boat ready for our first day sailing.
Final Fitting
Whilst Mark and I fitted the toe straps, Paul read up on how to fix and furl the jib. All was going well. The main sail went up for a test and so we were ready. I easily slipped on my diving boots with the aid of my wife pulling and tugging and put on some salopettes ready to push the boat around to the riverbank. With ease we crossed the railway line, at a very small manual level crossing. My wife and sons changed, Paul just putting on some salopettes but Mark going for full on wet weather gear.
Getting the boat on the water
The sun was shining brightly, and the air was warm in the October sunshine. I was ready for your first day sailing.
The boat is quite big and heavy, so we were advised to use the winch which took out all the effort of lowering the boat into the water. Once in the water Paul decided that that three was company, and four was a crowd in the very light winds and trying to balance the boat, so I remained ashore and took some photos as the designated landlubber, whilst the team were pushed out into the river. The river’s current, sensing our inexperience in the boat, decided to have some fun, with no wind taking my family on an unplanned downstream tour. They passed expensive yachts before passing a Thames A-Rater, Spindrift racing around a course. My son politely asked the crew on Spindrift to notify the members of the club that some assistance was required downstream, and to dispatch the Safety Boat forthwith.
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Safety Boat Rescue
They passed all the expensive boats still facing upstream but evermore moving downstream carried by the rain surged current towards a low bridge. The impending bridge loomed like an unwanted deadline, but despite their best efforts, our boat seemed determined to reach it. Enter the Safety Boat, the marine equivalent of cavalry riding to the rescue.
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By the time the Safety boat arrived the team were well on their way to the bridge. The team then discovered that their painter (the rope at the front) was way too short. Ideal to tie the boat to the launching trolly but not anywhere near long enough for a tow. They did have a longer rope its just that it was still coiled up in knots from the shop. The safety boat tried to position the Toura alongside the safety boat to pull it back. But due to the size and weight of the Toura they had to give a trailer tow. So the tow back to the Club started and Paul noticed how when the boat was going forward how the boat drained automatically.
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The second rescue
Thus, the maiden voyage, our first day sailing, filled with drifting daydreams and minor misadventures, with my son Paul (RYA sailing level 1 & 2), Mark firmly on the Jib and wife on the other end of the jib rope concluded. And while it might not have been the triumphant sail we had imagined, it was a sail rich in memories, laughter, and lessons.
Paul was convinced by the flags fluttering and some lasers and A -raters passing by that there was wind out there, so Mark went out with Paul for their second rescue. They didn’t get so far this time but Paul could not seem to get any wind in his sails despite his direction, so the safety boat did the length of the racing course and pulled the boys back to safety.
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My first day sailing
With the boat tethered, we meticulously examined the rigging, making sure that every piece was in its rightful place. The scent of adventure mingled with a faint whisper of wind as we set sail, with Paul at the helm, and me in the front, we set off upstream. This was my first day sailing. There was a slight whiff of a breeze and the boat glided off in the downstream direction. I showed everyone how to do it by skilfully pulling on the jib when told to so and by how much. We were now in the middle of the river and setting off down the course. We streaked past a moored boat like it was standing still.
The initial drift downstream was leisurely, almost teasing us with its gentleness. Every pull of the jib, every manoeuvre, seemed in tune with the water’s rhythm. For a fleeting moment, we felt like seasoned sailors, expertly zipping past moored boats.
But then, as if to remind us of the river’s unpredictable nature, we hit a lull. That heart-stopping moment when you realize the wind’s left your sails and you’re at the mercy of the currents. But Paul, always the quick thinker, performed a graceful gybe, tilting the boat, awaiting the next gust.
Off we go
After a moment we caught the wind and slowly we edged forward on the upwind part of the course we were now sailing, not fast, but we were sailing under our own sail power. The wind increased and then dropped.
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And when it came, oh, what a feeling! The thrill of being propelled forward, the sails billowing, the wind in our faces. We had found our groove. The safety boat’s thumbs-up was more than just an acknowledgment; it was a nod to our perseverance.
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The wind’s capricious dance continued, sometimes propelling us with gusto, other times teasingly retreating.
It took us a few minutes to get there but we had managed to get to the marker, so we turned around on the downstream stretch with the wind a little bit more behind us. Hello we were really moving. We managed to tack a couple of times, but we also made it to the other marker. We had one leg of a race completed, managing to round both markers, making the most of our practice session. It felt like a mini victory, a testament to our growing bond with the boat and the water.
That was the end of the practise session the safety boat was coming in and so we headed back to the bank where we had started off ready to try and haul the boat back up the slipway with the winch and put the boat away. We took a moment to snap a few photos, capturing the essence of our day.
Packing up
Putting away took an hour and as we did, we tried out the Jib sock and found it to be a Quest variety and too short. I suppose this was to be expected. We took a couple of photos and sent off yet another e-mail to RSsailing to get another replacement.
Some helpful onlookers suggested that we bought a jockey wheel for the front of the boat launcher and after pulling the boat for a few yards I agreed with them. That was going to be another item I would have to put on my list and learn how to fix onto the boat launcher. Thus ended my first day sailing.
Emails after sailing
Later I sent and email and photos of our first debacle to RS.
Email from me to RS
Beth delivered this boat to us on Friday 6th Oct. Then she noticed we had ordered a Toura but got parts for a Quest. She took these back with her and arranged for replacements to be sent. This is all fine and everything has now been fitted except for the Genaker. I have yet to have time to do this.
We took the boat out yesterday using the main and jib only having managed to follow the instructions in setting everything up.
When we had finished we decided to use the jib shroud for the first time so took it out of the plastic bag and fitted it.
Now this appears to be way too short and the openings do not correspond with the jib, so I believe that this may be a Quest part rather than a Toura part. Could you please advise?
Email from RS to Me.
Good afternoon Philip
Thank you for your email. And sending the photos, I’m sorry that you’ve had another mistake, it does look to be too short.
I’ve ordered a replacement cover (#169182) which my colleagues in Dispatch will check before sending out, this should be with you in the next few days. I’ve asked they include a free returns note – if you could be so kind as to package up and return the incorrect cover to us.
Do hope you enjoyed sailing your new boat yesterday!
Best wishes,
RS Customer Support
Rs customer support have been very helpful. They accepted their mistakes and went out of their way to ensure that everything was fixed and we were up and running as quickly as possible.
So, for all the future sailors out there, here’s my pearl of wisdom: it’s not about the destination, but the hilarious, sometimes frustrating, journey. And always, always keep an eye on those sneaky split pins.
