Seeing the jenniker there reminds me of the one and only time I flew my spinnaker. I normally work on the theory that the best place for a spinnaker is in the bag, particularly if you're a single hander.
But fits of madness do come over us from time to time. Now it was a big one, a mast header, no three quater jobby.
The wheather was grand, a steady three on the quater, so why not. But as is the way of big sails they always seem to bring the wind.
The three increased to a four going on five, the boat was loving it and I didn't feel too shabby either.
Storming along as she was, it didn't take long in an ever freshening wind to cross courses with some fancy racing yacht comming upwind under a reef and working headsail.
By now yer man has figured out I'm on my own and he's having non of it. A rapid knock on the coach house brings three crew on deck, out comes the reef and up goes a larger headsail.
By the time I pass under his lee, with the old girl chomping at the bit, he gives me a reluctant wave as we quickly put some distance between us.
I couldn't wait for him to disapear over the horizon fast enough, him probably thinking, "salty bugger," me thinking why on earth did he have to happen along when he did.
I would have had the beast down an hour before, but there was no way I was giong to look a complete eejit trying to wrestle that thing down in front of an audience.
1.(sometimes capital letters 'V' and 'S' with no space) a style of writing or saying something using emotion and/or logic and snark, esp. in order to elucidate the obvious while pretending to be objective.
2. anything written by The Vidiot, The Sailor, Mr. Vidiot and anyone else they allow to post on the blog “vidiotspeak”
[Origin: loosely based on new + speak, coined by George Orwell in his novel, 1984 (1949)]
3 Comments:
Seeing the jenniker there reminds me of the one and only time I flew my spinnaker. I normally work on the theory that the best place for a spinnaker is in the bag, particularly if you're a single hander.
But fits of madness do come over us from time to time.
Now it was a big one, a mast header, no three quater jobby.
The wheather was grand, a steady three on the quater, so why not.
But as is the way of big sails they always seem to bring the wind.
The three increased to a four going on five, the boat was loving it and I didn't feel too shabby either.
Storming along as she was, it didn't take long in an ever freshening wind to cross courses with some fancy racing yacht comming upwind under a reef and working headsail.
By now yer man has figured out I'm on my own and he's having non of it.
A rapid knock on the coach house brings three crew on deck, out comes the reef and up goes a larger headsail.
By the time I pass under his lee, with the old girl chomping at the bit, he gives me a reluctant wave as we quickly put some distance between us.
I couldn't wait for him to disapear over the horizon fast enough, him probably thinking, "salty bugger," me thinking why on earth did he have to happen along when he did.
I would have had the beast down an hour before, but there was no way I was giong to look a complete eejit trying to wrestle that thing down in front of an audience.
Happy days.
I'm sorry. Was that in English??
Nah, it was sailorspeak;-)
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