What a marvellously slow day was yesterday, clothed in off white and with the merest of a summer breeze the day was set fair, just the sort of day to watch a yacht race. The high level bridge was raised in salute as the parade of boats glided gently beneath its over engineered Victorian structure, taking the flood tide north to gather beneath the slag bank. Long long ago, when I lived here as a child the night sky would be aglow with the tipping of molton slag, pushed by chuffing steam engines to the very top, before the hopper was released, and the man made hillside would catch fire like a protoplasmic flow from our towns mini volcano. You could see it for miles, but today it stands grey and slumbering, no not slumbering, it's deceased. No longer a testament to our steel making industry, now just a blot on the landscape which marks the start of todays "Round the Island" yacht race.
We're beside Walney channel, the north end, and we watch as the ten entrants to todays' race tack back and forth tweaking halyards, tightening sheets, raising mainsails and jibs, and jostling for position at the start opposite Mill lane. Binoculars out we count the craft and try to guess which of the vintage sailboats will grace the winners rostrum at Roa Island in a few hours time. I pick a green hulled sloop called Sheena, she seems to me to be moving well in the healthy breeze and her coming about manoeuvres are very smooth. Jackie, who's a bit of a romantic when it comes to sea going craft picks the one with the maroon sails, it's a yawl, and looks every inch from a bygone age. A yawl has three small sails, and because the back sail is behind the helm that makes her a yawl. Shes very pretty but looks to me a likely loser if were looking for speed.
At 1130 they're away, heading for the northern tip of Walney with the wind on their aft quarter and with the flood tide pushing them in the same direction. One by one the spinnakers are flown by the sloops making a colourful sight as they recede into the distance. There are three cats, six sloops, of various sizes and one yawl who is bringing up the rear already. Just five minutes into the race and Sheena, my winner, has already drawn well clear, we get in the car and drive to West shore to continue our race watching. The Dunes at the top end of the Island will prove an excellent vantage point to watch the flotilla wizz by, and we should make it there just before they do.
The tide is full in and calm, with just a gentle whoosh of breaking waves against the boulder strewn beach that is Ernsie bay. We park the car someway short of the sand dunes, and walk the rest of the way, which is about a fifteen minute amble amongst sea cabbage, spikey purpley thistley things, hare bells and other plants peculiar to this windswept corner of Walney. When I was a kid my parents used to bring us here often on hot summer days to play all afternoon in the dunes. Dunes are great when your a kid. Some are quite high, well twenty or thirty feet and we would climb to the top and leap off into an avalanche of silky soft banana slide rides. The downside was that sandwiches which we took for a snack would get filled with the real thing, sand. It was always windy on Walney and the sandhills would always make your snack extra crunchy.
We perched high on a dune, damping down the needle sharp grasses, and gaze out towards the tip of Walney as the first of the yachts slide out from the island channel and into the steely grey Irish sea. Away in the distance was Black Coombe, but today it melted into the horizon, as the sea and sky presented a monochrome canvas onto which our flotilla inched it's way one by one, turning to face the SW prevailing wind that had dropped considerably in the last hour. Sheena and two other sloops were first to show, and then a gap before a couple of Cats and the blue boat appeared. It must have been a good twenty minutes before all ten boats were visible, and last to show was the yawl. Everything was in slow motion, but steadily they tacked to and fro just off shore until after about an hout Sheena and the other two leaders were opposite our vantage point. The yawl didn't seem to get any closer at all, she just seemed to grow smaller and smaller as she headed out to sea. Must be a problem with her steering gear, or she has a cunning plan. Never the less the leading boats, all sloops were putting a lot of distance between the rest. Time for us to get back to the car and go and buy some lunch, pick up a snack some where, which turned out to be Morrisons, and buy that bit for the outside tap from B&Q.
Then it was back to the action. We took up our new position at the old tip on south Walney, no longer a tip but a good vantage point to see the races progress. We scoffeed our mini samosas, chicken sartay sticks, salad and dips, with a fruit tart for afters. The Binocs picked up the leaders, as they clawed their way towards us tacking in an even lighter breeze now doing about 2 knots. It was like watching paint dry but a lot more exciting. We had our camping chairs out and were very comfy, so comfy in fact that Jackie had a snooze. I got out my watercolours and watched some other paint dry as I tried to capture the thrill of it all.
The breeze had now dropped to the occasional zepher and the race got slower. One of the cats gave up the race and decided to motor home, but our three leaders were determined to battle it out. The leading boat at this point was the beneteuax first, which seemed to be getting the better of Sheena and Geneve. They had passed us as Jackie had been snoozing, making about half a mile on each tack but wait a minute. How come my painting had the yawl in it, how can that be. I packed my paints away, the picture was becoming clearer. Could you believe it the little old yawl was some how gaining on all three leaders as she continued on her long tack from way offshore. As the leaders once more tacked away from the shore in there inch by inch struggle to find some way the yawl glided passed the lead boat almost as if she had some magic breeze all of her own.
We packed our stuff back into the car and headed fro Roa Island to see this photo finish. We sat on the pier steps and gazed out towards the south end of Walney straining our eyes in the grey light, and gathering drizzle. Through the binoculars I caught a glimpse of the top of a mast above the southern dunes of the island. A few moments later the distinctive maroon sails of the yawl came into veiw, and the whole boat rounded the end of the island and headed towards the finish at Peil. Slowly but surely she inched her way to the finish line. By the time she tied up the drizzle had really set in, maybe twenty minutes had gone by and the only other boat that appeared was a tiny sloop. Sheena and the other early leaders were nowhere to be seen. The Yawl had won it by a mile, the tortoise had out run the hare.
A fine dusting of drizzle had now begun to fall steadily and it was time for home, It had been a slow day, but a most marvellous one.
We're beside Walney channel, the north end, and we watch as the ten entrants to todays' race tack back and forth tweaking halyards, tightening sheets, raising mainsails and jibs, and jostling for position at the start opposite Mill lane. Binoculars out we count the craft and try to guess which of the vintage sailboats will grace the winners rostrum at Roa Island in a few hours time. I pick a green hulled sloop called Sheena, she seems to me to be moving well in the healthy breeze and her coming about manoeuvres are very smooth. Jackie, who's a bit of a romantic when it comes to sea going craft picks the one with the maroon sails, it's a yawl, and looks every inch from a bygone age. A yawl has three small sails, and because the back sail is behind the helm that makes her a yawl. Shes very pretty but looks to me a likely loser if were looking for speed.
At 1130 they're away, heading for the northern tip of Walney with the wind on their aft quarter and with the flood tide pushing them in the same direction. One by one the spinnakers are flown by the sloops making a colourful sight as they recede into the distance. There are three cats, six sloops, of various sizes and one yawl who is bringing up the rear already. Just five minutes into the race and Sheena, my winner, has already drawn well clear, we get in the car and drive to West shore to continue our race watching. The Dunes at the top end of the Island will prove an excellent vantage point to watch the flotilla wizz by, and we should make it there just before they do.
The tide is full in and calm, with just a gentle whoosh of breaking waves against the boulder strewn beach that is Ernsie bay. We park the car someway short of the sand dunes, and walk the rest of the way, which is about a fifteen minute amble amongst sea cabbage, spikey purpley thistley things, hare bells and other plants peculiar to this windswept corner of Walney. When I was a kid my parents used to bring us here often on hot summer days to play all afternoon in the dunes. Dunes are great when your a kid. Some are quite high, well twenty or thirty feet and we would climb to the top and leap off into an avalanche of silky soft banana slide rides. The downside was that sandwiches which we took for a snack would get filled with the real thing, sand. It was always windy on Walney and the sandhills would always make your snack extra crunchy.
We perched high on a dune, damping down the needle sharp grasses, and gaze out towards the tip of Walney as the first of the yachts slide out from the island channel and into the steely grey Irish sea. Away in the distance was Black Coombe, but today it melted into the horizon, as the sea and sky presented a monochrome canvas onto which our flotilla inched it's way one by one, turning to face the SW prevailing wind that had dropped considerably in the last hour. Sheena and two other sloops were first to show, and then a gap before a couple of Cats and the blue boat appeared. It must have been a good twenty minutes before all ten boats were visible, and last to show was the yawl. Everything was in slow motion, but steadily they tacked to and fro just off shore until after about an hout Sheena and the other two leaders were opposite our vantage point. The yawl didn't seem to get any closer at all, she just seemed to grow smaller and smaller as she headed out to sea. Must be a problem with her steering gear, or she has a cunning plan. Never the less the leading boats, all sloops were putting a lot of distance between the rest. Time for us to get back to the car and go and buy some lunch, pick up a snack some where, which turned out to be Morrisons, and buy that bit for the outside tap from B&Q.
Then it was back to the action. We took up our new position at the old tip on south Walney, no longer a tip but a good vantage point to see the races progress. We scoffeed our mini samosas, chicken sartay sticks, salad and dips, with a fruit tart for afters. The Binocs picked up the leaders, as they clawed their way towards us tacking in an even lighter breeze now doing about 2 knots. It was like watching paint dry but a lot more exciting. We had our camping chairs out and were very comfy, so comfy in fact that Jackie had a snooze. I got out my watercolours and watched some other paint dry as I tried to capture the thrill of it all.
The breeze had now dropped to the occasional zepher and the race got slower. One of the cats gave up the race and decided to motor home, but our three leaders were determined to battle it out. The leading boat at this point was the beneteuax first, which seemed to be getting the better of Sheena and Geneve. They had passed us as Jackie had been snoozing, making about half a mile on each tack but wait a minute. How come my painting had the yawl in it, how can that be. I packed my paints away, the picture was becoming clearer. Could you believe it the little old yawl was some how gaining on all three leaders as she continued on her long tack from way offshore. As the leaders once more tacked away from the shore in there inch by inch struggle to find some way the yawl glided passed the lead boat almost as if she had some magic breeze all of her own.
We packed our stuff back into the car and headed fro Roa Island to see this photo finish. We sat on the pier steps and gazed out towards the south end of Walney straining our eyes in the grey light, and gathering drizzle. Through the binoculars I caught a glimpse of the top of a mast above the southern dunes of the island. A few moments later the distinctive maroon sails of the yawl came into veiw, and the whole boat rounded the end of the island and headed towards the finish at Peil. Slowly but surely she inched her way to the finish line. By the time she tied up the drizzle had really set in, maybe twenty minutes had gone by and the only other boat that appeared was a tiny sloop. Sheena and the other early leaders were nowhere to be seen. The Yawl had won it by a mile, the tortoise had out run the hare.
A fine dusting of drizzle had now begun to fall steadily and it was time for home, It had been a slow day, but a most marvellous one.
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