Learning from experience
Hamilton De Farias gets more than he bargained for on a family sail on the lake
For eight years I lived in London and every Saturday we’d go to Bury Lake Young Mariners, our sailing club at the Rickmansworth Aquadrome. We’d sail all day on the tiny lake; practising techniques was all we had space for, but we were happy. Then our family moved to Santa Catarina, a small state in southern Brazil. As a 13-year-old there were many difficult changes to get used to, but the worst was going a year with no sailing. Then in January we completed the paperwork for a new boat, an Argentinian Microtonner 19 called Sopravento, meaning ‘blowing wind’.
We were to sail her in the beautiful Lagoa do Imaruí, which is close to the town of Laguna. It’s a nature reserve, where the plants and trees have thrived since the times of native Americans. With its many palm trees, on sunny days, it could be right out of a brochure. Passionfruit grow on climbing vines, and attract hummingbirds, which in my opinion are one of the most beautiful birds.
Sopravento was a 19-footer and, arriving at the slipway early in the morning, we expected to be in the water in a couple of hours. But, of course, almost everything that could go wrong, did go wrong. Far from being a large dinghy, Sopravento turned out to be closer to a small yacht. While we were rigging we made several mistakes, which we only discovered later. My brother, dad, granddad and I were congratulating ourselves on being able to rig the boat first time, and meanwhile the trailer was falling apart.
Eventually the time came to lower her into the water, and once again this didn’t go smoothly. The trailer was of an old make, probably hammered together in somebody’s garage with whatever came to hand. It was of such poor quality that the hook didn’t fit the standard tow hook. The only way we could attach the two pieces with a remote chance of success was by resorting to ropes.
We started to launch Sopravento in the green water, but ran out of slipway. If the car went any further it would be in the lake. We detached the trailer from the car (the engine was disrupting the neighbours anyway) and tried to manually pull the boat off, but even four people working together couldn’t move it: it was much too heavy.
Smart idea
Dad had an idea. We took a long length of rope and put it through a block at Sopravento’s stern. We then took one end and tied it to a yellow buoy. The other end went through an alpine butterfly knot (which conveniently puts a fixed loop in the middle of a line) tied between the stern and the buoy, and back to shore. The result was a makeshift pulley system.
It worked well. Too well. It pulled the buoy and the boat together and the buoy was dragged into shallow water. Our buoy was rendered useless until put back into deeper water, but it was worth it. We mounted the outboard and at last Sopravento was afloat.
The wind was picking up now and the leaves of the palm trees all pointed in the same direction. As it was everybody’s first time sailing the boat, we resolved to put a reef in the sail. Surprisingly, this was fast and easy. Things were looking up, and 10 minutes later we were underway.
With the sails up and the wind fair and salty, the only way it could have been better was if there was some sun.
The lack of sun, however, did not dampen anyone’s spirits, as we could hear the water rushing under the bow, one of the best possible sounds to hear after a year with no sailing.
A new motorway bridge had recently been built over the estuary, shaving 20 minutes off people’s journey to the nearest tourist city. The problem for us, however, was that the old, low bridge had not been removed. That left us only one option – to head north. As the wind was from the south, we sailed a dead run down the lake, turned to a beam reach, went about and sailed back.
This, of course, did not go without a struggle. Somebody had coiled the mainsheet and forgot to untie it. We almost turned over and were heeling at a 45° angle before we regained control.
On top of this, the stopper knots on the jib sheets were not big enough, so they both came flying out of the blocks with the first gust.
We did the course a few times so everybody would have a chance to get the hang of sailing Sopravento, then we decided to go a bit further down the estuary towards the prawn fishing zones in the opening of the next lake.
We sailed once again on a dead run and that brought us about half way to our destination, and everything (apart from some ridiculously short jib sheets playing up) went well.
This was before I noticed the centreboard was rattling in its case. I didn’t think it much of a problem at the time, as this happened often when sailing the lasers and wayfarers at our old club. I decided to tell my dad if the problem
persisted – so what happened next was probably my fault.
The lifting keel suddenly jerked up. When I say ‘suddenly’ you’re probably thinking it was a dramatic moment in which the boat stopped with a horrible grinding noise, the colour draining from the crew’s faces… but in all honesty, it was nothing like that. What really happened was that no one actually noticed that we’d run aground. That was, until my little brother hesitantly asked “are we moving?”
After much trouble with the keel... “Raise the keel please.”
“It’s too heavy,”
“Then use the winch… don’t be stupid, the other one!”
… we were able to get off of the sandbank.
But that was a small problem compared to what happened next. A light flapping noise was heard several times in the space of a few minutes: first by me, then by my brother. We looked over the side and saw some fish behaving strangely. They were slapping their tails on the surface and seemed to be trying to swim downwards, but couldn’t. It didn’t seem possible. Then my dad saw a black line trailing from a fishing boat some 200m away. This time it was my granddad who pointed out that we weren’t moving.
Somehow our keel had caught up in a net. We raised it a little but couldn’t get it all the way up. We were still stuck. I then realised all that we could do is wait – the fishermen had netted a 19ft fish! They weren’t very happy, but as a team they started to cut the net free. It was taking a while, and my help was not needed, so I went below and took a nap.
I woke to hear my brother telling me it was my turn to helm, and that we had a new course. My dad explained we were going to go for a swim, as the tide had turned and the waves had gone. We found a pleasant bay and went in under main alone. We de-powered, dropped the anchor, and swam. The water was warmer than the air; a bit grey, but this didn’t matter, it was still pleasant.
Nobody minded that plenty had gone wrong; things were bound to on our first sail in a new boat. We didn’t sail far, but I think that after this practice we could. It was a perfect day to sail as well, the sun was out for most of the day, and the wind was not too strong, nor too weak, and, no matter what way it shifted, it was always from the sea, so you could smell the salt.