The Sportswoman's Library, Vol. 2 of 2

by Unknown

One of the best hauls we ever made was in the Wayfarer, my brother's trawler, between Torquay and Dartmouth, when we had the whole deck full of fish, mostly whiting and soles, and the trouble was to get rid of them, even though we supplied every one in Dartmouth, and that in the time of the regatta.

Brixham and Bosham fishermen are much pleasanter to deal with than the self-styled "Yachtsmen," and they give much less trouble, do more work and require less wage. The custom of making a friend of the "Captain" is a huge mistake, as these individuals are usually the most wholesale extortioners that exist. The exorbitant wages they demand for filling a luxurious billet would stagger a longshoreman, and the petty pilferings, nominally perquisites, in which they indulge are what really make yachting so expensive. The familiar manner of some of these brass-bound autocrats is simply atrocious. They seem to consider themselves complete masters of the situation, and treat the owner and his friends as so much superfluous cargo to be ordered about at their desire. This, without any exaggeration, is the state of things on numerous yachts I could name, more especially those with lady-owners.

To turn now to clothes, that all important point to members of my sex. I can only venture to suggest the merest hints, as really it is not a subject on which I am an authority, that is to say, if one is supposed to practise what one preaches. Brown in any form is to be avoided on the water, it is unspeakably ugly, and a number of people dressed in brown on a boat would destroy its appearance, be it never so smart. Nothing looks so well as white and red, or dark blue, but not black. Blue gauze veils are useful, but not ornamental, though a broad-brimmed sailor hat embraces both these virtues.

I have been twice to the Mediterranean, once in a sailing boat, the Goddess, and once in a steam yacht, the Normania. So I will close my cruising yarns with a description of what we experienced at the hands of a Greek pilot. We were between the Piræus and Corfu one evening when it came on suddenly very dark and dirty. Being a very determined party of women on board, we made a stand for taking shelter behind one of the islands. We all "held a board" on the chart, but could see no harbour of refuge equal to sheltering our sumptuous craft. The little Greek pilot however proved equal to the occasion. Pointing out a small indentation in the coast, he urged us to confide in him, and he would guarantee us a peaceful night. Accordingly we slowed down the engines, and made for a faint red light. The chart, by the bye, said this light should be green, but that was neither here nor there. There was a rocky promontory sticking out with a lighthouse on the end, where was the aforesaid red light that should have been green. This our valiant pilot steered straight for. It was blowing a sirocco, with thick rain and a heavy sea, nevertheless we all stood on the bridge to watch the hazardous venture. On we went, straight for the rocks where the rollers were breaking. It was becoming decidedly interesting, and as the chart evidently did not consider the place worth its serious attention, we could no longer look to that for guidance. Very soon the darkness and hurly-burly of the storm lifted for a second, and displayed a most disorganizing prospect. We were almost on the beach on the starboard side, and could have thrown a biscuit into the lighthouse window on the port, and there was land right ahead. We were in a little pocket, a neck of rocks which ran parallel to the coast, taking the fury of the waves, and affording a good shelter. But a tighter place for a five hundred ton vessel could not be imagined. When we looked out of our ports in the morning, we were still more astonished, for without exaggeration we could have held easy converse with the people ashore all round the vessel, while our bow positively overshadowed the small quay. It was a place into which one would have hesitated to take a 50-tonner with twin screws in broad daylight, and for a 500-tonner to get in safely in a howling hurricane, and when it was pitch dark, was indeed a feat of ingenuity.

Of course it entailed backing out, but as the yacht fortunately was a very handy vessel, this was safely accomplished. Such little incidents, which lend a piquancy to cruising dispel the monotony, and while they keep up the interest in the manipulation of your vessel, also serve to entertain your friends on getting home.

Yacht-racing is in every respect a sport suited to our sex. No unseemly gymnastics, no over-straining or over-tiring, no cruelty can be laid to its charge, in fact nothing to offend the most exacting upholder of the feminine. Yet Yacht-racing is open to abuse, though even here in a lesser degree, perhaps, than other amusements. Where it stands alone, is that in it a woman can compete on equal terms with man.

Yacht-racing needs much study, and should not be attempted till the ordinary art of sailing is thoroughly understood. It is the most delightful education in the world, the most interesting and healthful. It becomes so engrossing you will not rest till you understand the whole thing, and know the why and wherefore of all the different moves. It is not advisable to order a boat of your own till you have served an apprenticeship as "hand." Very few people are now contented to go as "hand" or "crew," every one preferring to "paddle his own canoe." Nevertheless it is delightful to go in a well managed boat where you have full confidence in the skipper, and a beginner should certainly not be above it. She will then see how much there is in "handling," and realize how many races are won solely by clever management and attention to small details. At any rate do not attempt to have a boat of your own for the first time until you have secured an experienced racing skipper. When you have done this be guided by him entirely to start with, only you will do well to be still more particular than he is in adhering to the Yacht Racing Association Rules, which of course you should know by heart. If you are racing do what the skipper tells you instantly, and do not wait to ask the reason first, do that afterwards.

The great secret of racing is to keep your wits about you, do everything "smartly," never hesitate or waver between two opinions at a critical moment, for that will merely lose you the race. The need of prompt decision is one of the most exciting features of racing, now it has been brought to such perfection. One faux pas and you are done if the wind stops true, but on the other hand it seldom answers to give up, as you need never despair of the wind veering round and coming to the rescue, even if you have made a blunder. To be really good in a boat you should have done some single-handed work, but this is not to be recommended until you are well grounded in the rudiments of sailing, or you will very shortly be "well grounded" on something harder still.

The single-handed matches in one-raters which were witnessed in 1895 and 1896 were excellent trials of skill, as was shown by the results. It is impossible to exaggerate the difficulty of sailing those boats single-handed in rough weather, for it is a task worthy of a Sandow and a Carter rolled into one, and the greatest kudos is therefore due to those sportsmen who brought their boats safely across the winning line. There were some "lame ducks" too, through no fault of their own, and many I regret to say made but a poor show of their prowess. There is plenty of variety, however, in racing without going to any extremes, or attempting impossibilities like those single-handed matches. A half-rater would be quite as much as one man could manage properly in rough weather.