tome
New member
Boat was a 75 foot (on deck) Baltic trader with a telegraph pole (no joking) whittled to a taper as a bowsprit. We'd been allocated an anchorage for Cowes week between the Trinity House buoy and the Shrape mud. After a difficult first couple of tides in a crowded anchorage, we adjusted our scope, marked our position and settled in comfortably for the week. We tuned the radio into Cowes and our duties were limited to a trip up the Medina first thing to drop of racing crews, pick them up again at the end of their racing and then a slow trip out and back whilst they changed into blazers. Some nights we tied up at the coal wharf, out again first thing.
Great week and we were in prime position for the finishes, which we watched whilst listening to the live commentary on radio. One day I spied the Contessa 32 fleet beating up towards the finish, fine boats with graceful lines and racing flat out. I could see that they would pass close, so called up the crew and passengers for the finish. All but one passed safely to our South, but a chancer took on both wind and tide and attempted to cross ahead. Alas, the tide was strong and the wind unkind. As he came round the end of our bowsprit, the more he pinched to avoid us the more he moved sideways towards our bow.
When eventually defeated by the trigonometry of his situation, his backstay and mast straddled our bowsprit and he was done for - pinned to our stemhead. The skipper then berated the crew into pulling her off sideways, using our bobstay chain for purchase. Trouble is, the bowsprit was raked upwards at quite an angle and we could see it would soon be out of reach. Short of tripping our anchor (and drifting into the boat astern) thre was nothing which sprang to my mind as an obvious salvation for the poor skipper.
By now the skipper was a-purple and shouting at everybody. As I leaned over the bow he started to chastise me for our choice of anchorage, which I politely reminded him was allocated by the Cowes harbour master. As his thunder rose, our passngers started to react to his irksome behaviour below and some started to return his abuse. I felt it prudent to rope off the foredeck as a crew only area whilst looking for a way of releasing the boat before the situation became dangerous.
By now Cowes week radio had picked up the incident and were broadcasting blow-by-blow accounts of his attempts to extricate himself from our bowsprits as they observed through their binoculars. One of the passengers brought his radio through the barrier and defiantly put it down on the guard rail above the skippers head. He turned it up loud, and the skipper soon retired.
So why the confessional? He was eventually pulled off sideways by a STINK POT!
What would you have done?
Great week and we were in prime position for the finishes, which we watched whilst listening to the live commentary on radio. One day I spied the Contessa 32 fleet beating up towards the finish, fine boats with graceful lines and racing flat out. I could see that they would pass close, so called up the crew and passengers for the finish. All but one passed safely to our South, but a chancer took on both wind and tide and attempted to cross ahead. Alas, the tide was strong and the wind unkind. As he came round the end of our bowsprit, the more he pinched to avoid us the more he moved sideways towards our bow.
When eventually defeated by the trigonometry of his situation, his backstay and mast straddled our bowsprit and he was done for - pinned to our stemhead. The skipper then berated the crew into pulling her off sideways, using our bobstay chain for purchase. Trouble is, the bowsprit was raked upwards at quite an angle and we could see it would soon be out of reach. Short of tripping our anchor (and drifting into the boat astern) thre was nothing which sprang to my mind as an obvious salvation for the poor skipper.
By now the skipper was a-purple and shouting at everybody. As I leaned over the bow he started to chastise me for our choice of anchorage, which I politely reminded him was allocated by the Cowes harbour master. As his thunder rose, our passngers started to react to his irksome behaviour below and some started to return his abuse. I felt it prudent to rope off the foredeck as a crew only area whilst looking for a way of releasing the boat before the situation became dangerous.
By now Cowes week radio had picked up the incident and were broadcasting blow-by-blow accounts of his attempts to extricate himself from our bowsprits as they observed through their binoculars. One of the passengers brought his radio through the barrier and defiantly put it down on the guard rail above the skippers head. He turned it up loud, and the skipper soon retired.
So why the confessional? He was eventually pulled off sideways by a STINK POT!
What would you have done?
