Standing in line with a dozen other people on a narrow gravel shoreline, I looked out at the chilly expanse of Ullswater beyond the instructor as she completed our briefing.
‘As you can see, the wind is strong and the lake’s quite rough today,’ Liz said. ‘Whatever you do, please don’t go out of the shelter of this bay.’
For me, it was a rare summer at home in England. Having committed to a sailing and climbing trip to Tierra del Fuego for the following southern summer on a friend’s ocean going yacht, it seemed wise to use some of the intervening time to get some practical sailing experience. My wife Jane and I had enrolled on a course at Howtown Outdoor Centre on the eastern side of Ullswater — one of the Lake District’s largest and most beautiful stretches of water. By spending every Tuesday evening over a six-week period out on the lake we hoped to pick up the basic principles of sailing Toppers — small one-man fibreglass dinghies fitted with a rudder and single sail.
On our first lesson the previous week it had been completely calm and impossible to put classroom theory into practice down on the water. We all simply drifted listlessly on the lake, paddling our boats back in with our hands at the end of the session. But today, as I waded into the water pushing the small dinghy in front of me, I felt nervous. Despite it being evening, the wind was showing no sign of abating and there were good-sized waves not far from the shoreline. The water beyond the small bay we had been instructed to sail around looked rougher still.
I climbed aboard and tried to make myself comfortable, but the wind quickly filled the sail and the boat rapidly accelerated. In no time I was struggling to hold on to the cord fixed to the end of the boom with one hand while trying to control the tiller with the other. I was soon skipping over waves as the yacht slewed across the water in an arc, feeling like it was about to capsize. Then the wind suddenly dropped, leaving the sail flapping noisily. My forward movement halted as abruptly as it had started. I sat and puzzled as to what had happened, trying to work out the direction of the wind and how I should set up the boat. It was not easy, there were so many different things to deal with. By moving the rudder I managed to get wind back into the sail, which produced another spurt of forward movement. However, it soon died like the first. This was baffling.
I looked around to see how the others were coping. One or two seemed to be doing quite well but most were also making faltering progress. The instructors moved between the dinghies in a small launch offering advice and encouragement. I persevered, cautiously trying to not go fully with the wind. Eventually I made some reasonable passages in a straight line, only to lose momentum when I tried to take a different tack.
I began to feel frustrated and reasoned that it would be best to simply throw caution to the wind — literally. I turned and let the sail fill completely, then held the dinghy on that course. I skimmed along, bouncing over the bigger waves, leaning out to maintain stability. This was more like it, I told myself as I rapidly headed out of the sheltered bay and into deeper water. The waves got larger, the wind gusting ever stronger. All of a sudden the cord attached to the end of the boom was plucked from my hand and the boat turned over, flinging me into the water. I surfaced almost immediately, gasping from the shock of the coldness. The lifejacket was doing its job well, keeping me at the surface with my head out of the water, so I floated for a while and took stock. The boat was upturned nearby and I was a long way out into the lake.
Having got my breath back, I swam a few strokes and regained the dinghy. We had been instructed how to right a capsized boat, however that had been in shallow water during the becalmed first lesson. I tried grabbing the keel and using my bodyweight to roll the boat upright; it would not move and after a couple of attempts I slumped back into the water. Then I dived down and tried pushing the mast up from below. The wind was stronger now and waves were breaking over the hull. It was obvious that I simply did not have the strength or technique necessary to get the dinghy back upright in such conditions. Embarrassingly, all I could do was wait to be rescued.
As it turned out I was not the only one having difficulties. Back in the bay others had overturned and the instructors were shuttling dinghies and clients back to the pier with two launches. My wetsuit had warmed and I felt quite comfortable. I relaxed, hanging limply from the side of the boat and waited my turn. Eventually, the launches made their way out to me.
‘Having trouble are we?’ Liz asked,
