I discovered a love for sailing quite suddenly and relatively late in life. I knew nobody who sailed, I lived nowhere near the coast and I'd hardly enough money for a good set of waterproofs let alone my own yacht. So, how to get back out onto the water? Well it was my wife, ever able to get to the heart of a problem, who booked the family onto a flotilla holiday and me onto a "Competent Crew" course.

The weather was worsening, it had to be blowing at least a force 6 gusting 7 and the rain was lashing down blurring my sight and reducing visibility to around 1000 meters. I was quite enjoying it, safely wrapped up in my car with the wind tugging at the steering and near horizontal rain driving across the M3. I suddenly realised with genuine horror that I was dashing through some of the worst weather I've ever seen in order to sail the Solent in a tiny boat! The horror quickly subsided and was even replaced with not a little excitement. I was quite sure that the Skipper wouldn't let anything happen to us soft novices and I began to look forward to a lively week of sailing.

Monday - Storm bound.
Well, the Skipper turned out to be disappointingly safety conscious and kept us in the marina for the first day while a force 6 moaned through the masts and rattled the odd poorly secured halyard. We spent the first full day, Monday, getting used to life on board and learning a few knots and rules of the road. The boat itself, a 37 foot Bermuda rigged sloop, was damp and smelly and had a cooker which, was only capable of running the oven or the grill or one, but not both, of the rings at any one time. The engine was difficult to start (more about that later) and the bilges needed 10 to 15 pumps every morning to empty them of water. The starboard aft cabin had a strong smell of diesel, the tool kit was very rusty, and we even found someone's old pastie in the oven! We were told that this is fairly normal (apart from the pastie) but I now know that that boat needed a good service and should not really have been used for training. At the time I was quite ready to accept the condition of the boat as 'normal' but others in the crew were demanding a change of craft. The skipper tried but, despite the fact that the marina seemed to be full of boats owned by this company, we were told that none were available. So we christened her "The Duff Pastie" and got on with it. After all, as Bernadette said, "It can't get any worse". Reading this you must think we were a right bunch of moaning landlubbers but this was a big company and we'd paid a lot of money to be there and, as I now know, it doesn't have to be like that at all.

The boat was well provisioned for our 5 days of sailing but, owing to the condition of the oven, we decided to eat ashore every night. A move welcomed by the skipper who quickly familiarised us with the time-honored tradition that a skipper never pays for his own food and drink. Well, if that's true I've never met a professional skipper since who even mentioned it (a racing tradition perhaps?). Anyway, he seemed to be doing his best for us and he probably wasn't being paid much so we got a kitty going and made sure he didn't starve. In return he guided us to some of the best eateries and pubs in the Solent area.

Our 'would be' competent crew consisted of Bernadette and Richard, a couple who intended to buy their own boat, Steve & John, two friends who could be persuaded to buy shares in a boat and me, Geoff. I am quite certain I'll never be able to afford my own boat or shares in one. Then there was our skipper who's collective noun for trainees was 'Punters' when he was trying to be polite and 'Muppets' when he wasn't.

Tuesday - Nice shoes!
The winds were finally dropping. I pumped the bilge by hand, 15 pumps until I was pumping air. We slipped and headed for Bosham. Coming out of the harbour we passed another yacht healed over, aground. A lone figure sitting miserably on the hull waiting for the tide to lift him off. Some channels can be tricky to follow and this unfortunate sailor must have missed his turn. I really can't remember much about this sail which is surprising considering it was the first time I'd actually been out on a yacht (previous experience was with dinghies) but I must have been too busy with fenders and sails and taking turns at helming.

When we reached Bosham we picked up a Buoy and got the water taxi to the shore. I remember the taxi pilot looking at my feet and saying "Nice shoes!". There was a sarcastic tone to his voice and I knew why. When the course was booked I received some information on what clothing bring and I decided to get some boat shoes. However, I went to a normal shoe shop and they sold me something called a boat shoe that was never designed to go on a boat or anywhere near water! Get your kit from a proper chandlers. Those shoes fell apart as soon as they got wet. I now use trainers or proper sailing boots. We sailed from Bosham to West Cowes in the afternoon. It was a leisurely sail because the winds were now light. I think they must have been blowing Easterly because we were mostly downwind all afternoon. I began to relax. The clouds were breaking up and the sun shone down from time to time.
My helming had improved, the skipper was giving us landmarks to aim for and most of us were able to keep the boat in a reasonably straight line. Having once been quite badly seasick on a fast-cat crossing to Guernsey, I was quite pleased to find that I didn't seem to be affected at all on this yacht but that was about to change very suddenly. Skip sent me forward to guide the genoa in its track whilst it was hoisted. We had a large ship crossing our path and we seemed to be taking no evasive action. The skipper must have judged that we need make no change to our course or speed to avoid a collision and he wanted us to prepare to raise the genoa as soon as it had passed. The ship loomed very large before passing safely by. However, just as it did so our skipper shouted "Mind the wake!" this basically means 'hang on for dear life' As we pitched into the wake I Suddenly I felt like I was on the first drop of a white-knuckle log flume ride. I lay down and gripped tightly to the pulpit guard rail. I felt weightless and could see only boiling green water. Then we crashed down and threw up a huge bow wave, which soaked me. After a couple more ups and downs the boat steadied and I got up into a crouching position ready to guide the sail but I now felt very seasick and had to concentrate on the horizon to suppress the urge to vomit. Returning to the cockpit later, Skip asked; "Bit wet out there is it Geoff?" He was laughing, I smiled and simply said "Yes, it is a bit". I don't know if he was having a laugh with us or it was his way of testing us under more uncomfortable conditions but I found I didn't mind at all. Most of us wanted to go on to at least Day Skipper level so, there was no point making things too pleasant for us. I noticed that one of the others was bent over the stern guard rail obviously not so fortunate with suppressing the seasickness.

We turned and sailed up the Solent south of Ryde Middle until we reached the mouth of the Medina where we planned to find a birth in West Cowes Marina but the engine wouldn't start. After several attempts the skipper gave up on it and decided to sail onto the pontoon. He very carefully explained what each of us had to do. We would get one shot at this and, if the ferry launched, it would not give way to us. It was now quite dark, we'd had the tricolour switched on for an hour or so. I think we were all a little worried, not least because this was the first time Skip had taken the time to explain to us what we had to do before we did it. As we sailed silently up to the pontoon, everyone in position and ready, it all seamed very serious. I kept half an eye on the ferry but had no idea what we would do if it suddenly launched. It didn't and we made a very good landing and soon had the boat tied up safely to the visitor's pontoon.

After walking the boat around to the sheltered side of the pontoon and paying the mooring fee we showered and went into town for some food.

Wednesday - Exhilaration
In the morning Skip got someone to check out the engine and it was revealed that it was simply a case of leaving the ignition on for a moment before trying to actually start it. Apparently this is a common enough characteristic of diesel engines. Had he just been testing us again? Walking back from the town I got talking to a chap who'd just completed his Yacht Master and he was over the moon. He had been trained on his own boat and he kept saying, "There's nothing like it, nothing at all" like Ratty from "The Wind in the Willows" though his enthusiasm was more like that of Toad. He was absolutely right though, there is nothing like it.

We slipped early in a moderate westerly wind for some sail training in the Solent. Skip worked us quite hard making frequent sail changes. Each time we hoisted a new sail we would drag the old one back through the saloon into the forward cabin. I guess that's why the boat was so damp. This was a good team exercise and we started to work well together. Sail changing is actually quite hard work and it can only be accomplished quickly by working together. When you take the sail out of the bag on a pitching deck it can be quite hard to sort it out AND hold onto the boat. With practice however, and we had plenty that morning, it becomes surprisingly easy to locate and secure the Tack, attach the Halyard and tie the sheets through the eye in the Clew. With hard work to keep me busy on a pitching and rolling deck I was beginning to get a taste for the rough stuff. I bet you're thinking 'Moderate winds in the Solent! Rough stuff?' Yes well, we all have to start somewhere and it was a lot rougher than sitting in front of my terminal at the office.

Having worked up a good appetite, Skip was eager to show us his favourite place to have breakfast in Cowes so, we tied up in the marina once more, grabbed the kitty and obediently followed. I wish I could remember the name of that place because it was an excellent café. You'll easily find it if you walk out of the marina through the boat yard and turn left when you enter the main street, it's on the left just where the road curves to the right. In the afternoon we slipped again and headed for Lymington. The westerly winds meant lots of tacking and we had a exhilarating sail. We found that none of us could spend very long below decks in these conditions but Bernadette bravely entertained us by falling around in the galley and eventually serving each of us a very welcome mug of tea. The winds strengthened and it started to rain. Exhilaration gave way to boredom and discomfort. As darkness fell we headed for Lymington on a port tack. Close hauled, we were bouncing along with very little to keep us occupied so, we just sat huddled along the port side of the cockpit shivering as we were soaked by the rain and occasionally drenched by the bow wave. That last leg seemed to take forever and when we eventually tied up on the Town Quay we were all very cold and tired.

By now we all knew what needed to be done to secure and tidy the boat before going ashore and we got on with it automatically. Sails were stowed, the main was flaked and covered, springs applied, fenders checked, galley tidied.
Skip didn't seem to know much about Lymington but John stepped in and soon sorted the best from the rest and we had an excellent pub meal. A day sailing does wonders for your appetite.

Thursday - Everything hurts
Waking up on Thursday morning I was acutely aware of aches and pains almost everywhere. It was painful just getting out of my sleeping bag. I had bruised legs and arms, cuts on my hands and the middle finger on my right hand was throbbing as a result of getting caught in the sliding hatch. Despite this, I was sorry that there were only 2 full days left before I'd be heading back to the Midlands. We slipped early and went across the Solent to Yarmouth. A trip I'd made many times in my youth on the Isle of Wight ferry having had a friend on the Island. I used to enjoy those crossings but I only wish I'd known then how much more fun it is in one of those tiny little yachts. No time for reminiscing though, the peace was soon shattered by the call every sailor dreads; "Man overboard!" Of course, it was no surprise. Skip had warned us and told us roughly what we would need to do but even so, we were soon disorientated and confused. I found it quite shocking to see how quickly we moved away from our stricken crewmate even if he was just a fender tied to a bucket. We practised the manoeuvre several times with each of us taking turns at the various duties and by the end of it I actually think that poor guy may have stood a chance of survival. Once we'd stopped running him down with the boat or mortally wounding him with a boat hook. Later, tied to the remote floating pontoon in Yarmouth harbour, Skip declined a lift from the taxi on our behalf insisting that we needed to practice our rowing skills. So, we unrolled the dinghy on the pontoon and inflated it. Skip rowed us ashore in relays so that we could get some lunch after which, we returned to the boat and took turns rowing the dinghy tied to the pontoon with a long line.

It was surprisingly hard work to make any headway against the tide and we all came to appreciate how easily you could be swept out to sea. Then we stowed the dinghy and got back on board for an easy, downwind sail to Wooton Creek where we waited for dark before our night sail.

We waited in the pub, which was nice, but we were banned alcohol, which was less nice and we had to study navigation lights. When it was suitably dark we slipped and headed for Gosport. Harnesses attached. It was a peaceful and uneventful crossing in light winds with lots of opportunities to practice identifying lights. Approaching Portsmouth harbour entrance I remember thinking I'd never know how to read all of those lights but, little by little you learn to pick out what is important from what is slightly less important and it all begins to make sense.

Gosport marina was to be our last night aboard before heading for home. There is an old lightship there, which now serves as club house and shower block. It is excellent.

Friday - A race
Friday morning dawned bright and calm. We sailed back into the Solent and practised helming and went over all aspects of what we'd learnt. I think this was the day that we each completed a navigation exercise, plotting a course on the map and giving the helm a heading to steer. Then we met up with another boat full of "Day Skipper" students (or punters!) and had a race. This was pre-arranged of course. Skip took this very seriously and did not seem amused when Steve said, as we drifted leisurely past the start marker in the light winds, "I can't say this is the most exhilarating race I've ever taken part in". On the last leg of the race a ferry crossed our path and Skip was determined not to change course on its account. However, when we found ourselves looking almost directly up at the passengers ranged along the guard rails he had to make a turn to port to avert disaster. For the second time we bobbed through the immediate wake of a large vessel. We fared better this time but the race was lost. Excitement over we headed back to the home marina to tie up for the last time. On the way Skip took us each onto the bow one by one to tell us we'd passed the course. Back on the pontoon we completed the customary cleaning down of the boat and cleared out our kit. We said our goodbyes and went our separate ways each the proud new owner of a RYA Competent Crew certificate.

Geoff