I had the idea when the new sailing club opened 20 metres from my bedroom window. If you can't stop them - join them. And if you cant do the things you used to do because of a gammy leg, then do new things. So - I decided to become a sailor. And to become a sailor at Porty Boat Club - you need your own boat. This is not as easy it as sounds. You cant just pop down to Scotmid and pick up a dinghy.
First you have to decide what kind. And your choice somewhat narrows when you realise that you have to get the boat down the beach to the water - there is no jetty, no marina. And if there is no one around to help - you have to do it yourself. And do you buy a single hander or a double hander? Because it seems that there isn't really a lightweight boat that will do both. Is it more fun to sail alone - or with a friend? And what about attaching an outboard? Or fishing? What about maintenance? Insurance? I search the Internet. Call a distant cousin who happens to be the Commodore (yes!) of a yacht club on the West Coast.
And during all the this frantic effort, a vague unease that I might not be physically up to, it my leg might not hold up, my knee too sore.. Meanwhile the search goes on. The budget rises. And then falls when HR refuses to buy out my leave. And then, how lucky am I, I meet an avid dinghy sailor who is a member of a club a couple of miles down the road. A club that has dinghies for use by members. A club that has a bar, and changing rooms, and lots of kit. A club, in other words, that is infinitely better than the one outside my bedroom window.
And this is how I ended up out on the open water in the Forth crammed onto a Pico with a friend. In a borrowed shorty wetsuit, soft black rubber boots, my skin graft open to the elements. Soaking up salty spray. Laughing and whooping. An anxious hand on the tiller. Cautious jibes and more confident tacks. Heading rapidly out to Fife, unaware that the rescue boat was never launched due to engine failure.
Back on the beach an hour later we are triumphant. De-rig and drag the boat back up the beach to the club house. Hand in my membership cheque and hose down my kit. Big smiles and aching foot. Home on the bus with my salty hair and a firm grasp of my stick. I am, officially, a sailor.
First you have to decide what kind. And your choice somewhat narrows when you realise that you have to get the boat down the beach to the water - there is no jetty, no marina. And if there is no one around to help - you have to do it yourself. And do you buy a single hander or a double hander? Because it seems that there isn't really a lightweight boat that will do both. Is it more fun to sail alone - or with a friend? And what about attaching an outboard? Or fishing? What about maintenance? Insurance? I search the Internet. Call a distant cousin who happens to be the Commodore (yes!) of a yacht club on the West Coast.
And during all the this frantic effort, a vague unease that I might not be physically up to, it my leg might not hold up, my knee too sore.. Meanwhile the search goes on. The budget rises. And then falls when HR refuses to buy out my leave. And then, how lucky am I, I meet an avid dinghy sailor who is a member of a club a couple of miles down the road. A club that has dinghies for use by members. A club that has a bar, and changing rooms, and lots of kit. A club, in other words, that is infinitely better than the one outside my bedroom window.
And this is how I ended up out on the open water in the Forth crammed onto a Pico with a friend. In a borrowed shorty wetsuit, soft black rubber boots, my skin graft open to the elements. Soaking up salty spray. Laughing and whooping. An anxious hand on the tiller. Cautious jibes and more confident tacks. Heading rapidly out to Fife, unaware that the rescue boat was never launched due to engine failure.
Back on the beach an hour later we are triumphant. De-rig and drag the boat back up the beach to the club house. Hand in my membership cheque and hose down my kit. Big smiles and aching foot. Home on the bus with my salty hair and a firm grasp of my stick. I am, officially, a sailor.
No comments:
Post a Comment