Marsali Taylor
There’s fulfilment and plenty of enjoyment to be had teaching the next generation of sailors
I’ve been involved in our club’s children’s sailing for over ten years. It’s a real pleasure. We start off in May, and spend the first two weeks on basics. The marina’s big enough for a training pool, so we tow them all up to one end of it, two per Pico, one on the helm, the other holding the neon-pink sail (no boom at first!). A ready, steady, go! then the wind blows them the 200m back down to the pontoon, with the crew catching the wind in the sail, and helpers retrieving them.
When they’ve got the hang of that, we go for skilled stuff: the helm has to turn up into wind, close enough to the jetty for the crew to jump out. First crew ashore is the winner! Once they can steer a straight-ish line, and have got the idea of filling the sail, we get the booms on and venture out into the sea. We have two miles by one of sheltered water, generally with the wind blowing them straight back onto the beach. Lessons start with us all lining up on the pier to assess the wind direction and strength, and the hazards that will create – what will it be like getting out of the marina mouth, or coming back in? Can they see Gibbie’s Baa, the rock just outside the entrance, or is it going to be re-named after one of them? Do they need to roll their sails up? After that, a scramble of pairs of blue-suited, scarlet life-jacketed youngsters haul their boats down the slip and get them rigged. We go through the rig check: painter attached, mast pin secure, kicker, daggerboard attached, sail stretched, mainsheet attached and not in a fankle, rudder tied on. Is there any water inside your boat? Well, take the bung out and check ... and make sure you put it back!
After that we go back to the shed and decide what today’s focus is, and how we’re going to work on it: up wind, down wind, triangles, or – their favourite – an expedition to land on someone else’s beach. There are squeals as the cold water hits their toes, but soon the boats are lined up on the pontoon, ready to go as soon as the RIB’s out there, waiting for them. With two of us in the RIB, I can be wetsuited up ready to go into a Pico the minute anyone looks as if their confidence is faltering. Otherwise, we leave them to it, putt-putting round them to give helpful instructions: ‘Push the tiller away from you a bit, no, the other away from you...’ ‘Sail in a bit tighter...’ ‘Try steering for the school...’
Games are popular. Collecting coloured plastic balls thrown by the rescue boat, or throwing a larger ball into each other’s boats; crew walking around the mast on a whistle; racing to the RIB from a start with everyone lined up at the marina shed. They invent their own games too, like passing some unfortunate jellyfish from boat to boat, and the obligatory jump-in from the pontoon once all the boats have been hosed down and put away.
Gradually, over the summer, they learn. The ones who shook their heads when offered the tiller go single-handed. Tacking no longer involves two complete circles. The boats become level in the water as crews learn to anticipate. Sometimes gybing happens only on purpose. In September, they have their own regatta, with prizes for everything that we can possibly think of, so that everyone goes home with a medal to hang beside their RYA certificate... and a good percentage of them come back next year for more.
It’s a lot of work, of course. As an RYA– affiliated club, we have an annual inspection, and a thick file of Health and Safety policies and criminal records check forms. Though the Pico hulls are as near indestructible as you can get, the rudders, ropes and sails aren’t. Most of all, we need people: instructors, RIB drivers, sailors to crew for nervous beginners, people to supervise the kit, people to make hot chocolate afterwards. For your club, could that be you?
‘Once they’ve got the idea of filling the sail we venture out into the sea’