Editor Pick
Yachting on the Clyde
- March 22, 2008
- Rated 5 of 5 by
Drever from Ayr
The Clyde once a bustling motorway for ships is now a playground for yacht enthusiasts. I came into sailing through an interest in boats gained from having messed around in a rowing boat as a kid.
My introduction to yachting though was perverse. I gained the theoretical qualification of ‘day skipper’ before I had set foot on a yacht. My opportunity came when one of my neighbours offered me a place on his boat. It was a brand-new 30-foot boat with umpteen winches and ropes all over the place, and built for speed in light airs. A funny choice I thought for windy Scotland.
I crewed three times and then it was straight into the ‘Scottish Series’ of yacht races. While I was the biggest novice some of the others had little more experience. Thankfully we had a skilled helmsman.
The boats muster point was Port Glasgow for the first race. It involved a 100-mile race around Ailsa Craig and then around the back of the Isle of Arran and up to the finishing line at Talbot at the top end of the Clyde. The race started as the sun was setting. We had red sails in the sunset - about as romantic as it gets.
As usual in the Clyde the wind proved variable. It blew up to a gale when we were going up the Kilbrandon Sound behind the Isle of Arran. Fortunately it was behind us but we didn’t slacken our effort. A spinnaker, a blanket like sail flown forward of the mast drove the boat over its theoretical speed.
The log read 17 knots as we surged down a steep wave and into the next one. The boat was responding less and less to the helm as we half slewed and half crashed into each wave. Eventually we went over (broached) with the mast and sails entering the water. I was new to this game and didn’t know the likely outcome but the word ‘sink’ entered my head. I was hanging on to the upper guard rail looking down at a fellow crew member on the lower rail with his behind in the water. He had the most curious look on his face, which seemed to say ‘I wish I were somewhere else’. The helmsman shouted let go the sheets. With the pressure released on the sails the boat popped up again.
Undeterred we continued under too much sail. Eventually the spinnaker ripped. No problem a tape meant for the purpose fixed it temporarily. Seeing a sister craft, owned by the person who had sold my friend this boat, we headed for it. He didn’t have a use for his spinnaker as he had lost his mast. He didn’t smile though when we shouted a request to borrow his and he refused. We crossed the line still broaching.
Ashore sailors in yellow yachting boots - the fashion of the year - were everywhere. The pubs did a roaring trade and the week passed in an alcoholic haze. How we were all fit for each day’s exhausting races was amazing. Even stranger despite the lack of initial experience on-board we finished third in our class. I guess we learned fast through necessity. Interestingly the boat never did so well again despite having more experienced crew.
I went on to have my own boat a 27-foot Albin Vega, ‘Frigg’ for 18 years. At first I thought of changing the name because of its unfortunate connotations but it grew on me and people remembered it. It was a family boat and I had many enjoyable cruises on it. I only raced it one season and won the club medal. When my family grew up and left I sold it to three people from Ireland. Two of these (from Belfast University) bring the boat over once a year for a get together and I think my approval to changes they have made to the boat. She is now like a wee palace!
I am now back crewing on the boat I started on. There is a pecking order on-board and as I have joined last I am helmsman number three. On the two occasions I have had a chance to helm in a cup race I ended up with my name on the cup but I know my place – helmsman number three!!!
From journal Art, Craft and Horse Riding in Scotland